


Out of Nowhere

by beckzorz (heckofabecca)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Awkwardness, Brainwashing, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Canon-Typical Violence, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, F/M, Kidnapping, Natasha Romanoff appears starting in chapter 9, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, POV Jewish Character, Pining, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Slow Burn, Swing Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2019-10-24 15:21:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 68,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17706758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heckofabecca/pseuds/beckzorz
Summary: An offhand comment at work draws Jesse Kaplan into the orbit of Bucky Barnes. Bucky’s excited at the prospect of normalcy, but there’s nothing normal about falling in love with the Winter Soldier.Updates Mondays and Fridays.





	1. "Sympathique"

On the nightstand, Jesse’s phone began to buzz. She sighed into her pillow, then blearily reached for her phone, eyes still closed. She tried to turn off her alarm, but it kept ringing.

Jesse groaned and propped herself up on her elbow and tossed her braid back. A phone call, from Robin. And it was—only eight? Oh, come on. Jesse almost threw her phone across the room, but if Robin was bothering to call, it had to be some kind of emergency.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Jesse, it’s Robin. Sorry to bother you so early on a Sunday.”

“It’s okay,” Jesse lied, voice as chipper as she could make it. “What’s up?”

“Marilyn broke her ankle. She’s in the hospital.”

Jesse gasped and sat up all the way. If she hadn’t really been awake before, she was now. “Oh no! What happened? Is she okay?”

“She’s holding up,” Robin said. “She had a fall, some neighbor’s cat on the stairs or something. The doctor said she’ll heal fine, but it’s going to be some time.”

“Oh, that’s awful.” Jesse pulled her knees up and held her phone between her ear and shoulder while she pulled her mussed braid apart. “Can I do anything?”

“Actually, that’s why I called.” Robin’s voice had turned hesitant. “There’s the Stark benefit tonight, and Marilyn wants you to go in her place.”

“Me?” Jesse almost dropped her phone. “But you’re the director. If she can’t go, you should!”

“Well, you actually helped organize the event,” Robin said. “Besides, you deserve some accolades. You do good work.”

“Thanks,” Jesse said. A smile tugged at her lips at the praise. “But still! I’m just the admin.”

“There’s nothing ‘just’ about it. You helped organize the event that’s getting us the award, Jesse. Besides, you wouldn’t want to disappoint Marilyn when she’s in the hospital?”

Jesse screwed up her mouth. No, she wasn’t going to deny a woman who’d just broken her ankle. “Okay, okay.”

“Fantastic. Thank you, Jesse. I’ll send you the details, and I’ll get in touch with the Stark Foundation to let them know you’ll be there instead.”

“Okay, thanks. Anything else?” Jesse asked automatically.

“No, that’s it,” Robin said. “Thanks again. I’ll see you Monday.”

“Okay, bye.”

Jesse hung up and tossed her phone halfheartedly at her feet. She stretched her legs under the sheets; her knees popped as she reached for her toes. It really was too bad. Properly bad for Marilyn—she wasn’t exactly young, and broken bones were a pain in the ass at any age. Too bad for the organization—another big event was coming up soon, and now all Marilyn’s work would need to be redistributed. And too bad for Jesse, who’d been looking forward to dancing at Central Park in the afternoon, _and_ who would at least partially be in charge of reassigning Marilyn’s work.

Jesse sighed, pulled her hair into a lopsided bun, and swung out of bed.

_I guess you can’t win ‘em all._

 

* * *

 

Within an hour, Jesse had gotten an email from Robin with details and, separately, an emailed invitation from the Stark Foundation. Black tie, hosted by Pepper Potts, please arrive between 6:30 and 7pm, drinks and dessert included. Jesse’s organization, the Brooklyn Children’s Education Initiative, was due to receive a donation that was almost a quarter of their yearly expenses, which was a huge deal. They almost _never_ got big grants. It was all piecemeal work, put together by the underpaid nonprofit of which Jesse was a part. And they hadn’t even had to do the normal exhausting grant-writing.

It was all thanks to Marilyn—and Jesse had helped, if she was honest. Marilyn had been planning an event for underprivileged kids to teach them about the Great Depression, including cooking a meal out of the period and listening to a few insanely old people recount their harrowing childhoods. A couple weeks before the event, one of the planned seniors had been hospitalized, which had prompted Jesse’s offhand comment about inviting Captain America or his friend.

Marilyn had done the outreach, and by some miracle Sergeant Barnes had come through. By Marilyn’s account, the event had devolved a little when the kids recognized Barnes, but it went smoothly enough. And apparently he had been impressed by the event. It was thanks to Sgt. Barnes that BCEI was receiving any accolades at all—he’d recommended them to Pepper Potts, and here they all were. Marilyn had liked Bucky Barnes, but Jesse had never seen him in person. Just on tv, or the internet. Tumblr was littered with Bucky Barnes memes, though Jesse tried to avoid them now that she was within two degrees of separation.

And tonight would drop that to one.

Jesse bit her lip and googled Bucky Barnes in her phone. She stared at the stern headshot that popped up. It was getting easier to believe that a guy who looked under thirty-five could remember the Great Depression, but it still didn’t seem _right_. She had plenty of cultural memory of the Holocaust, but she sure didn’t experience it firsthand.

She shuddered at the thought. Hell looked like a lot of different things, and from all she’d heard and read, Bucky Barnes was a guy who’d seen it all.

Hopefully he wouldn’t bring it up over dinner.


	2. "Solitude"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Then Jesse recognized a face in the little crowd that was gathering around to watch them, and she couldn’t help but stare.
> 
> Sergeant Barnes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler alert: Bucky's in this one :3 And I incorporated some PMing/texting, which will be a repeating format in chapters to come. Because frankly, we live in a digital world XD
> 
> Song for this chapter: "Solitude" by Louis Armstrong on _In a Sentimental Mood_. Hope you enjoy!

_Today, 6:38 PM_

itsadrian: ahhh you look great!!!!!

jesse.kaplan: Thanks :3333

jesse.kaplan: I’d feel better about this if I had a cocktail dress newer than the 1950s

itsadrian: lol

itsadrian: that’s what you get for only buying vintage clothes

jesse.kaplan: My jeans are brand new Adrian… it’s my soul that’s the Real Old™ around here

jesse.kaplan: don’t judge

itsadrian: can’t help it

itsadrian: at least it’s a nice one tho! the 50s are back in

itsadrian: and black is classic

itsadrian: i think if you went in a dress from the 40s you’d raise some Actual Old But Also Young™ eyebrows

itsadrian: 50s seem pretty safe in comparison

jesse.kaplan: don’t judge… but I had that same thought process haha

itsadrian: SMART

itsadrian: that’s why i keep you around :P

jesse.kaplan: Well thank god otherwise I’d be having a panic attack on the metro which is never a great look

jesse.kaplan: my roommate said it looked ok but I trust you more haha

jesse.kaplan: oh geez here we go ttyl!!

itsadrian: take a selfie with pepper potts!!!! byeeee

 

* * *

 

Jesse stuffed her phone in her clutch and adjusted its long strap across her body as she ran up the stairs to street level. The benefit was at a fancy hotel in Midtown, a block and a half from the subway. She was grateful she hadn’t given in to the urge to wear her fanciest shoes; her low black heels weren’t debilitating. Not yet, anyway. Hopefully there wouldn’t be too much standing in place.

She hummed jazz to herself as she walked briskly along, not meeting anyone’s gaze. Was it obvious where she was going, dressed up as she was? The benefit wasn’t hugely publicized, or at least she hoped it wasn’t. Sure, there might be a few supers there, but not the whole Avengers squad.

As soon as she rounded the corner, she sighed in relief. Though guests trickled in, the photographers corded off from the entry ignored them. No doubt they were waiting for the famous people.

Jesse hurried to the door, fished out the invite on her phone, and flashed it to the security guard as she went in. She heard sudden calls from the street, but the doors closed before she could see who was arriving.

Inside was cool, fancy—art deco carpeting, gilded columns, a gleaming reception desk. The odd tourist gawked; Jesse ignored them as best she could as she followed the directions of the smiling tuxedoed butler to the ballroom. She steeled herself and went inside.

Alright, so the room was gorgeous. A snazzy bar hugged the left wall, not far from the door, and a small raised stage complete with a Stark Foundation podium was on the far wall. Numbered tables set for ten took up much of the room, but there was a small area for schmoozing by the bar. Jesse brightened when she spotted the quartet just about to play—and a dance floor! Maybe they’d play some jazz, or swing…

Jesse deflated. She didn’t know anyone here.

“Excuse me,” someone said behind her, and Jesse apologized and made her way over to the bar, a vague smile fixed on her face. All she got was a water; no way was she drinking alcohol when she had to talk to strangers. She stood a few steps away from the bar, watching the few couples swaying to the music with a critical eye.

“Jesse?”

Jesse jumped and turned. A fellow dancer! Someone loved her tonight. “Mike! What are you doing here?”

“My company is getting a nod,” Mike said, grinning back down at her. He was pale and very tall—well over six feet—and wonderfully dressed, considering she’d only ever seen him in t-shirt and jeans. “You?”

“My colleague’s in the hospital, so I’m a last-minute replacement. She’ll recover,” Jesse added when Mike’s face screwed up. “If you’re here, I’m not sorry to have to replace her anymore though! How are you?”

“Pretty good, you?”

“Same old. Tired, but what else is new. Anyway, this isn’t exactly perfect music, but wanna dance?”

“Of course,” Mike answered.

Jesse chugged her water and left her empty cup and clutch at her table before hurrying back to Mike as a new song was starting. It had a better beat than the first song, and they snagged a spot near the band.

As soon as they starting pulsing to the music, Jesse’s lingering anxiety completely melted away. There was something magical about dancing with a good lead. Nothing else seemed to matter, and it was so easy to close your eyes and let yourself be led. And Mike was a _very_ good lead.

Once they started doing more complex moves, where Mike was alternatively at arm’s length and swinging her around him, Jesse opened her eyes to avoid collisions. The song was good, predictable—they both hit a break in the music and grinned at each other.

Then Jesse recognized a face in the little crowd that was gathering around to watch them, and she couldn’t help but stare.

Sergeant Barnes.

His expression was severe, intense; his hair was pulled back tightly. Combined with a high forehead and his sharp suit, he looked two steps shy of terrifying. After a moment, he met her gaze. Jesse forced a smile and looked away, heat rising to her cheeks. She kept her eyes on Mike, only daring to look as far up as the onlookers’ collars when she wasn’t facing her friend.

The music was fun, her dancing was good, so why did the guy who had been so impressed by her work look so _dis_ pleased with her now? Why couldn’t he smile like everyone else, and save her from being so worked up as to lose enjoyment in her one consolation tonight? She felt someone staring, cutting a line across her arms, her collarbone—she didn’t dare look to see if it was still him. She had to _talk_ to him later.

The song finally ended, and Jesse thanked Mike with a customary hug. Some of the onlookers clapped, and Jesse warmed a little as she smiled shyly around at them. Barnes had vanished, thank god.

Jesse slipped away to get her cup, disturbed. She couldn’t think of Barnes like that; he’d done so much for BCEI. And Marilyn liked him. She took a breath to clear her head and arrived at her table.

Oh.

Well.

Sergeant Barnes was sitting next to her things. An old woman was chatting to him from his other side. Barnes glanced at her as she approached, but almost immediate turned his whole body to face her. His gaze was less severe than before; maybe the effect of his companion?

“Hello,” Jesse said, doing her best to maintain a genuine smile.

“Hey,” Barnes said. His voice was soft, a little melancholy, and not exactly friendly. Still, a big improvement.

Jesse slid into her seat and wrapped her hands nervously around her glass, which a waiter came by to refill. The tables were awfully crowded; there was no room to avoid Barnes' gaze without seeming rude. She took a steadying breath and looked back up at him as confidently as she could.

Okay, she _knew_ he was ripped, but his face was oddly delicate. Maybe his sad eyes, or his mouth—Jesse cut herself off.

“I’m here for BCEI instead Marilyn,” she told him.

Barnes stiffened. His eyes narrowed as he leaned back a little to regard her with a suddenly terrifying demeanor. “Oh? What happened to Marilyn?”

“She broke her ankle,” Jesse blurted, her own eyes widening as his narrowed even further. “She’s alright though! Just a fall. A cat or… something. I’m sorry.”

“Bucky, contain yourself before you make this poor girl faint,” the old woman on Barnes' other side cut in. She leaned forward a bit and smiled, not unkindly, at Jesse. “You dance beautifully.”

“Oh, um, thanks,” Jesse said, cheeks hot. She stared into her water, trying to relax.

“I’m sorry,” Barnes said, low and repentant. “I was looking forward to seeing her.”

Jesse forced a little laugh. “It’s okay. I’m sorry too! She was looking forward to coming.”

“But you weren’t?” he asked. She looked up at that. He had his eyebrows raised a little, and she flushed anew. Was it so obvious?

“I only found out I was coming this morning,” she hedged. “I’ve never been to anything like this. I don’t think I’ll know if I should’ve looked forward to it until it’s over.”

He let out a rueful sigh. “Smart.”

Jesse sipped her water rather than agree with him. Far be it from _her_ to tout her own intelligence. Though she couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking of. He had to be thinking of something specific. She wondered.

The old woman on Barnes' other side reclaimed his attention with what turned out to be a long-winded story. Jesse couldn’t help but admire his quiet attentiveness. Perhaps listening to other people was easier than talking for him? She often found it so among strangers.

Five minutes in, the band quieted. The rest of their table filled in as Pepper Potts mounted the stage, a hulking man in a suit close at her heels. Jesse tried to figure out who in the crowd was a donor and who, like her, was a beneficiary. It was easier with the women—the rich ones had nicer, blingier jewelry. The men… all wore suits.

Potts began her speech, silencing all other conversations. “Hi and welcome to Stark Industries’ annual benefit…”

Jesse listened, half attentive, as Potts introduced various people representing various organizations. Each one went on stage to applause and shook Potts’ hand (continued applause), made a short speech about their Good Works (followed by applause), and left the stage. Jesse began to tune it all out, but then she heard Barnes' name and perked up.

“—Sergeant James Barnes, for his work with the Brooklyn Children’s Education Initiative.”

A smattering of applause echoed through the room as Barnes stood. The couple across the table from Jesse paled as they stared at him in fresh realization. Had they really not recognized him? Jesse glanced around; the shock and whispers were poorly masked by polite clapping. Apparently he wasn’t as instantly recognizable as she’d assumed.

A sudden burst of panic flared in her gut. Would Barnes' checkered history color BCEI’s opportunities in the future? Had she made a mistake soliciting his help?

She stared anxiously around the crowd, then back to Barnes. He stepped nimbly between the tables and up the steps to the podium, shook Pepper Potts’ hand, and adjusted the mic to his six-foot frame.

“Thanks,” Barnes said. His voice was soft, round, and vaguely ironic, but he met her eyes from across the room and gave her a serious little nod. Surprised, Jesse nodded back, and Barnes looked up to the prompter. “The Brooklyn Children’s Education Initiative provides the opportunity for underprivileged kids in my hometown to be fully engaged with their education. Their after-school programs at schools around Brooklyn welcome students of all backgrounds. I was lucky enough to participate in a program about the Great Depression, and it was inspiring to watch the students take control of their own learning. BCEI is a great cause. Thanks, Pepper, and everyone else who enables them to continue their good work.”

Once he stepped back, Jesse relaxed. It was so obviously scripted that she felt no qualms in only clapping as long as most others. It wasn’t any skin off _his_ back if she didn’t give a standing ovation for her own organization.

Best of all, the speech completely sidestepped his questionable past.

When Barnes made it back to the table, Jesse smiled up at him briefly, finally at ease about her attendance. She was done! BCEI had done its part. As soon as the rest of the speeches were done, she could leave, dance with Mike, make small talk—

Well, hopefully not small talk.

As the next speech went underway, Jesse looked through the crowd for Mike, finally spotting him a few tables away next to a middle-aged blond woman. Mike was busy watching the speech, but the woman eventually glanced Jesse’s way. Jesse gave a little smile and looked back to the stage, embarrassed.

Pepper Potts finished her closing statements and left the stage (to applause) as the band picked back up. Jesse turned at last to Barnes and cleared her throat.

Once he turned to her, she said, “Thank you for your speech.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. He took a sip of his drink; Jesse realized he too was just drinking water, and wondered why. Habit, or necessity?

“I don’t know your name,” Barnes said suddenly.

“Oh, I’m sorry! I’m Jesse.”

He studied her face. “You apologize a lot,” he said. “Why?”

“I dunno, Jewish guilt?”

“Ha.” Barnes said, but he was not smiling.

Of course—he’d worked for Nazis. Jesse winced.

“Alternatively, bad parenting?” she offered.

Barnes gave a tiny smile—his first all night. Jesse almost cheered.

“Hi, Jesse.”

Jesse spun in her seat. “Mike! Hi!” She smiled up at her friend. Mike glanced at Barnes with muted curiosity.

“Wanna dance?” he asked.

She smiled and jumped to her feet. Let Barnes be awkward at someone else. “Take a guess.”

 

* * *

 

Jesse danced with Mike for a single glorious song. When a stranger asked her to dance, she accepted, but instantly regretted it. She smiled tensely the whole time, using as much force as she dared to keep her shoulder from popping out of its socket. Once the song was over, she fled back to Mike with a relieved sigh.

While they were dancing, someone kicked the back of Jesse’s ankle. She stumbled with a wince; Mike gripped her elbow, steadying her.

“I’m sorry! Are you okay?” she asked automatically, turning to face whoever had stepped on her.

It was Barnes, dancing with the old woman from their table. His face was pinched, but as she spoke his expression grew incredulous.

“I kicked _you_ ,” he said. “Are _you_ okay?”

“Of course, it happens all the time,” Jesse said. She rolled her ankle, containing a wince. Barnes just stared at her. She smiled, hoping to diffuse— _reassure_ him. “So I’ll have a bruise! It’s the cost of doing business. Not a big deal. You’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said, still looking at her as though she had two heads.

“Good,” Jesse said. She nodded with finality and turned back to Mike. As they finished out the song, she occasionally met Barnes' eyes. It was hard to look friendly under the force of his confusion, especially as she considered the necessity of asking after the well-being of someone who had not been hurt when that someone was a supersoldier.

Of course Barnes was fine. He was engineered to be fine.

Physically, anyway. Who knew what was going on in his head.

The song ended—Mike timed a dip perfectly—and Jesse hugged him and turned to get some water.

“Would you like to dance?”

Jesse blinked up at Barnes. He stood in her way, his gloved hand held out to her. She looked down at it, then back to him. Why was he asking? Out of politeness? He’d been more confounded by her than anything…

More importantly, did she actually _want_ to dance with him? Would he hurt her? He didn’t seem to know how to express himself in public. Did that translate to dancing?

Well, the old woman had finished her dance with him in one piece, so she probably would too.

“Okay,” she said finally, and put her hand in his.

The corners of his mouth turned up, though she wouldn’t call it a smile exactly. He put his other arm—his flesh-and-bones arm—under hers and across her back, drawing her in so close that her nose brushed his jacket until she turned her head aside. She let out a shallow breath and tried to relax as the music started, simple and slow and gentle. His muscles shifted with his movements, and a sudden flush spread over her face as she realized how close they were. Jesse swallowed. Should she try to make conversation? Should she just bear the silence? What would they even talk about? They’d covered all the normal things back at the table…

“You dance real well,” Barnes said suddenly.

Jesse hummed her thanks and smiled despite herself. If someone who had lived through the actual swing era thought she was doing a good job even when she was so damn uncomfortable, she _had_ to be good.

He moved them a little apart and studied her. “And you look… a little out of place.”

“What?!” Jesse laughed, too bewildered to be offended.

“Your dress is out of time. It’s, um…” Barnes frowned. His gloved hand clenched around hers, and her smile fell flat. Her heart twisted at his obvious confusion. God, no wonder he’d stared at her! He couldn’t place her. Captain America had missed everything for all the years he was missing, but the Winter Soldier… hadn’t.

Her face burned. How could she have been so self-centered? Every concern she’d had about Barnes had been all about her, not him. So what if he was awkward, or intimidating? Hadn’t he suffered enough? Hadn’t he earned the right to be free of her judgment?

“It’s from the fifties,” Jesse said at last, glancing at their clasped hands as his hold tightened again. He loosened his grip, chagrined.

“I thought so,” he said. “But—”

“My hair’s very much not fifties,” she added. “That might have thrown you off?”

Barnes tilted his head as he regarded her. She tried not to squirm, but being stared at by a man trying to piece her various incongruent parts together made her flesh crawl. It felt like an eternity before he was satisfied.

“Right,” he said. He let out a breath between his teeth and drew her back in, settling his arm securely around her. “Thank you.”

His mouth was by her ear, and the quiet warmth of his words sent a sudden shiver through her. Unable to speak, she just nodded.

How could such a strange, displaced man make her feel his presence with nothing more than a simple thank you? Dancing with him was so different from dancing with all the other leads she knew. With them, she had familiarity, comfort… There was comfort here too—he knew what he was doing, no question—but it was spiced with something dark. However awkward he was in conversation, they weren’t limited by that now. Behind that uncomfortable veneer, Barnes was dangerous. Somehow, that thrilled her.

Jesse sighed and closed her eyes, trying not to melt into Barnes’ solid hold. Her efforts must have been in vain, as he tightened his arm around her ever so slightly. She expected him to put her back to a safe distance, but… he didn’t.

Well, she’d take it. Whatever danger he posed to his enemies, right now he wasn’t hurting anyone.

The rest of the song passed in a pleasant blur. When it was over, Jesse hesitated before stepping back. Barnes had gone still, but he let her pull away without resistance.

“Thank you,” Jesse said. She smiled tentatively up at him.

Barnes didn’t answer; his eyes were dark and his shoulders tense. He stared down at her, unblinking. Jesse bit her lip, unable to look away. After a tense moment, he let out a quick breath, nodded sharply, and stalked away.

Jesse stood immobilized on the dance floor until Mike came by with his own water.

“You okay, Jesse?” he asked.

“I think so,” she said. She shook off the strange aftereffects of her dance with Barnes. “I think I’m going to head out. It was great seeing you! Will you be at the dance on Thursday?”

“I should be,” Mike said. He gave her a quick hug. “Bye.”

“See ya.”

Jesse made her way back to her table, still half in a daze as she gathered her clutch and wove her way back to the door. She was almost there when someone put a firm hand on her arm, stopping her in her tracks.

It was Barnes. His face was back to its normal solemnity, but Jesse flushed all the same at the sudden memory of being held against him.

“Where is Marilyn staying?” he asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m sorry. I can find out,” she offered reflexively, then frowned. “Although I don’t know how to get in touch with you.”

“Give me your phone,” he said. “Unlocked.”

Jesse blinked and did as he asked. There was no arguing with _that_ tone of voice. Barnes started a new text, and Jesse raised her eyebrows. “Aren’t you worried I’d give your number to someone else?”

He gave her a dry look, but paused. “Are you going to?”

“No…”

“So I’m not worried.” He sent the text and passed her phone back to her. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Jesse tucked her phone away, bewildered. “You and Marilyn must have really hit it off.”

“She’s great. No nonsense, no judgment.”

Jesse bit the inside of her lip. “I suppose so.”

Barnes’ eyes narrowed at once. “What do you mean?”

“Oh—well, everyone’s judgmental. It’s just that Marilyn is usually right, so it’s not so obvious. Or annoying. At least for sensible folk. You know.”

Barnes smiled, his face transformed into something sweet and warm. Jesse couldn’t help but smile back.

“I guess I do,” he said.


	3. "Bienvenue Dans Ma Vie"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well, thanks again for the dance,” she said lightly. “It was… nice.” A flush crawled up her face as the memory of it came back to her, and she turned to Marilyn to avoid Barnes’ suddenly suspicious stare. “So… surgery tomorrow?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler alert: red henley incoming ;-) Hope you enjoy!

**_XXX-XXX-XXXX_ **

_ Yesterday, 8:22 PM _

Jesse: Bucky Barnes

_ Today, 9:37 AM _

Jesse: Hi, this is Jesse Kaplan. Marilyn is at Brooklyn Methodist. Have a nice day!

XXX-XXX-XXXX: ok ty

 

* * *

 

On Tuesday morning, Jesse got a call from Marilyn on her way to the printer.

“Marilyn, hi, how are you doing?”

“Oh, I’m hanging in there.” Marilyn sounded reasonably chipper. “I wanted to thank you for going to the Stark benefit for me.”

“Oh, of course,” Jesse said. “I had a nice time. A friend was there, and there was a band, so we got to dance.”

“You met Bucky too,” Marilyn added. “Thank you for letting him know where I am. He brought flowers.”

“Wow,” Jesse said, eyebrows raised. Barnes had already visited? With all his extra abilities and famous connections, she’d hardly expected him to make it to the hospital at all. Wasn’t he busy? Jesse held her phone in place with her shoulder as she sorted the flyers. “That was nice of him.”

“Wasn’t it? Anyway, I wanted to ask a favor. The doctor told me I needed to wait one more day for surgery since my ankle is still so swollen. I left a book in my cube and I was wondering if you could bring it over after work.”

“Uh, sure.” Jesse winced. So much for making that stir fry.

“Thank you so much, Jesse. I’m just insanely bored. TV only distracts me for so long. Every home makeover is basically the same. How many times can I watch them knock down a non-supporting wall?”

Jesse laughed as she finally got all the flyers arranged under one arm. “I get it! I’ll see you later. May your day pass quickly!”

“You too!”

 

* * *

 

Brooklyn Methodist Hospital was closer to BCEI’s office than Jesse’s apartment, but the best stop on the 3 train still left her with a ten minute walk. She slogged through the humid streets, studying the people she passed with mild curiosity, plus a little grin for the few who caught her eye.

By the time Jesse arrived at the front desk, her hair was more frizz than curl. She got directions to Marilyn’s ward. On her way there, she ducked into a bathroom to smooth back her hair and wipe her face.

She studied herself in the mirror with pursed lips, then reapplied her lip balm and pinched some color into her pale cheeks.

A little better.

When she reached the right room, she heard someone else talking with Marilyn before she could see inside.

Jesse paused, curious, but the quiet man’s voice stopped mid-sentence.

It had to be Sergeant Barnes, Jesse realized. He’d heard her come, and he’d heard her stop. Why was he here? He’d come yesterday. Did he have nothing else to do?

Well, no point in lingering at the door. Jesse went in.

Marilyn was sitting up in a bed by the window; the other bed was empty. Barnes was in a chair under the window, elbows on his knees, head framed by a bouquet on the sill. He was frowning at the door, but once she came in he sat up, frown fading. He looked much less severe today. His shoulder-length hair was down and tucked behind one ear, and his jeans and henley shirt were as unthreatening as anything. And—she tried not to stare—he wasn’t wearing gloves. His left hand was black matte metal, shot through with gold.

“Jesse! I’m so glad you could make it,” Marilyn said. Jesse tore her gaze from Barnes. Marilyn’s curly hair was limper than usual and her ankle was elevated and in a cast, but other than that she looked normal.

“Hi,” Jesse said. She went and handed Marilyn her book. Barnes stood up as she approached, but Jesse quickly hopped up onto the other bed before he could offer her his chair. He sat back down slowly, narrowed eyes fixed on her. Jesse did her best to focus on Marilyn. “How are you doing?”

“Oh, I’m alright,” Marilyn said. “I’ll be better once I can get out of here. At least here I get the good painkillers.”

Jesse snorted. “That’s something.”

“And good company—Bucky came back.” Marilyn smiled at Barnes, but he was still watching Jesse. “He says you dance wonderfully,” Marilyn added, smirking a little.

At that, Barnes jerked in his chair. “Ah,” he started, but said no more. Inwardly, Jesse was giddy at the compliment, but she tried not to show it. Poor guy probably wouldn’t be able to handle it.

“Well, thanks again for the dance,” she said lightly. “It was… nice.” A flush crawled up her face as the memory of it came back to her, and she turned to Marilyn to avoid Barnes’ suddenly suspicious stare. “So… surgery tomorrow?”

“That’s the plan. How’s the fort holding up?”

“Work? Oh, we’re managing.”

Barnes cleared his throat. Jesse reluctantly looked over at him, half afraid she wouldn’t be able to look away.

“What exactly do you do?” he asked her.

“Um, admin stuff,” Jesse said. “I answer phones, print things. You know. And—”

“Jesse helps everyone,” Marilyn interrupted. “She’s the one who suggested we reach out to you.”

“Really?” He raised his eyebrows at Jesse with frank appraisal.

Jesse scooted back on the bed and crossed her legs, a little embarrassed. It had only been an offhand remark; how was she supposed to know Marilyn would take it seriously? Or that the Winter Soldier had a philanthropic streak? “After one old man had to go to the hospital, I figured we should find one more… hardy?”

Barnes snorted. He pressed his lips together in a vain effort to hide a smile, but his amusement was clear. Was he laughing at her?

“Hardy!” he chortled. “I guess that’s true.”

“Yes, well…” Jesse stared at her hands tucked between her legs. She was never going to have a normal interaction with this guy, was she? If they weren’t both being awkward, one or the other was bound to be. The only time that hadn’t happened was when they were dancing, but it wasn’t like the Winter Soldier was going to show up at the weekly dances.

Jesse looked sideways at Barnes as Marilyn asked him about his health. The constant awkwardness was a shame, really. He’d danced so well. As good as dancing with Mike, who was her favorite…

A real shame.

“I’m going to get going,” Jesse said. She hopped down from the hospital bed, wincing—damn, they really knew how to kill backs in hospitals—and gave a little wave.

Barnes stood up. “I should head out too,” he said. “Marilyn, good luck tomorrow.” He shook her hand gently.

“Bye you two! Be good.” Marilyn settled in with her book, though Jesse could have sworn Marilyn winked at her, out of Barnes’ sight. Jesse pursed her lips, half annoyed and half amused. Once Barnes was done holding the door, he’d probably abandon her and stalk away to whatever rock he was living under.

Barnes, however, did not stalk off at the first opportunity. Jesse was already scrounging for her phone when he fell into step beside her.

“So all this is your doing,” he said.

Jesse abandoned the search for her phone. “All what?”

“The work,” he explained, glancing sidelong at her. “Getting me involved. Do you have all the ideas?”

Jesse’s cheeks warmed. “Not all of them,” she said. “I just… make suggestions.”

“Right,” he said.

Once she pushed the down button, Jesse stared up determinedly at the muted television by the elevators. She was  _ not _ going to stare at Barnes, or his arms. Local news and typo-ridden closed captioning, she could handle.

> [ unusually height end number of break ins have 
> 
> [ been reported   around the burrough. Be sure
> 
> [ to lock your doors and windows when  leaving
> 
> [ your home.           Weather tonight—

The elevator dinged. Barnes stepped forward, then paused.

“After you,” he said.

“Why thank you,” Jesse said primly. She led the way in, pushed the lobby button, and leaned against the wall. The metal was cool against her bare arms. Barnes stood against the opposite wall, facing her.

“Do you go dancing a lot?” he asked.

“Once or twice a week,” she said. She smiled wryly. “I don’t know if that’s a lot.”

Barnes whistled low. “Sounds like a lot to me.”

“Well, there are people who go almost every night.”

“Why don’t you?”

“I believe in diversification.” Jesse grinned, and Barnes barked out a laugh as the elevator doors chimed open.

“Smart,” he said, eyes crinkling with a smile.

“I do my best,” Jesse quipped. She pressed her lips together, trying to keep from grinning like a loon as she led the way out. Two compliments from awkward Bucky Barnes in ten minutes? Who wouldn’t be delighted?

They both paused in the shade of the awning. Barnes stared out at the street; Jesse let out a tiny, wistful sigh. What a profile.

A thought struck her as she glanced back at the hospital entrance. If Barnes could afford to visit Marilyn two days straight on such short notice, how busy could he possibly be?

“You should come dancing sometime,” she blurted.

Barnes stiffened, then turned his head to frown at her. Jesse swallowed, suddenly nervous.

“If you want,” she added quickly. What on earth had possessed her?

“When?” His commanding tone was the same he’d used when he’d asked for her phone on Sunday night.

“Oh, um, Thursdays are when I tend to go.”

“Text me the address,” he said brusquely. He looked again up and down the street.

“Okay.” There was no wind, and she was standing quite still, but she felt as though she was standing in the wake of a sudden storm. What had happened to the friendly man of a minute ago? He’d vanished, and all that remained was a shuttered shell. “I… guess I’ll see you around.”

“Mm.” Barnes nodded once in her direction, eyes still elsewhere. He turned on his heel and left.

If he had been a few inches shorter, Jesse would have lost sight of him in half a moment. As it was, she could see his head bobbing away, getting smaller and smaller. Then he turned a corner and was gone.

 

* * *

 

Francisco, Jesse’s roommate, was already eating dinner at their kitchen table by the time she got back to the apartment.

“Hey, Jesse.”

“Hi, Fran,” Jesse said. She slid out of her shoes, left them in the pile by the door, and collapsed in the chair across from Fran with a sigh. “How’re you?”

“Less exhausted than you,” he said, eyebrows raised. “What happened?”

“Oh, god. Nothing bad. Just a long errand. My coworker Marilyn, the one who broke her ankle, asked me to bring her a book from work to the hospital, and—” She cut herself off. Fran wasn’t a gossip, but was it right to tell him about her awkward meetings with Bucky Barnes? Maybe, maybe not. Better to err on the side of caution. “It’s hot, and I’m starving,” she finished with a sheepish grin.

Fran laughed. “Poor Jesse. Good news is that I made enough for you, too.” He pointed his veggie-laden fork towards the counter. A wok full of stir-fry!

“Ooooh, thank you!” Jesse popped to her feet and began putting together a plate. “So how was your day?”

“Fine, just finishing up everything before vacation. One week! I’m so ready for it,” Fran sighed. He pushed his dark bangs back from his eyes. “Do you know my boss was asking me if I’d have wifi?”

“Aren’t you going to Iceland?” Jesse asked. She slid back into her seat and dug in.

“Yes!” Fran laughed. “I told him no.”

“Good call. No, an  _ excellent _ call.”

Once they’d both finished eating, Jesse took both plates and got to cleaning. Fran had made dinner, so it was her job to clean up. That was their system, and it worked.

Jesse liked Fran. They’d lived together for close to two years without any major conflicts, which was a small miracle considering they had no dishwasher. Jesse’s last roommate had left dishes out overnight at least three times a week even with a dishwasher. Fran was much cleaner. Plus, he didn’t bother her in the evenings, which meant she could shutter herself in her room, flop down onto her indented mattress, and think.

What was up with Bucky Barnes? She didn’t know what to make of him. She could easily understand his awkwardness—who wouldn’t be overwhelmed and underprepared for socializing after all he’d gone through? Being a soldier in active combat was enough to change most people, and Barnes had suffered so much more. On top of losing his arm, he’d lost his autonomy, his sense of self…

She couldn’t imagine surviving all that.

Well, she would  _ probably _ survive it, but she wouldn’t come out okay.

So how did Barnes manage those brief, wonderful moments? Just the thought of his soft smile and sincere compliments made her cheeks warm. Once her mind jumped from there to the memory of dancing with him, she knew her attempts at serious contemplation was a lost cause.

Jesse pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. She really shouldn’t be thinking about it so much—it was one dance! Just one!—but she couldn’t help it. Bucky Barnes was awkward, occasionally frightening, but there was no escaping the heady intoxication of being held in his arms, not even days later.

She rolled over and grabbed her phone from her bedside table. She still hadn’t added his name into her contact list. He’d only texted her to thank her for Marilyn’s hospital, and there’d been no reason to think she’d ever correspond with him again. But he’d asked her to text him again. She could do it. She could text him where to go for the dancing tomorrow, and maybe he’d come, and maybe they’d dance again.

Or she could… not text him. She could ignore his request, forget her blundering suggestion that he go dancing at all, and move on with her life. Keep the memory of him locked away for quiet moments, immutable and sepia-toned like all old things.

Jesse sighed. Much though that would be easier on her mental state, it wasn’t fair to him. She’d said she would text him, and it wasn’t right to break her word to him. What would that say to him? He wasn’t worth her time? She didn’t follow through? He was a horrible person and she was afraid of him?

She shuddered. No, her feelings were her own to manage.

God help her, she’d do her best to manage them.

 

* * *

 

**_XXX-XXX-XXXX_ **

_ Today, 9:02 PM _

Jesse: Thursdays is Frim Fram Jam at 412 8th Ave, 4th Floor, near Penn Station. 

Jesse: It starts at 9pm, cover is $10

_ 9:21 PM _

Jesse: Hope you can make it!

 

* * *

 

By the time Jesse got to the Thursday dance, she was too nervous to smile. She clutched her bag to her side as she scanned the crowd. But Bucky Barnes was nowhere to be seen.

She sighed. She should have expected this. Of course he wouldn’t show.

Changing into her suede-bottom dance shoes only took a minute, and in another minute she was dancing. Three songs went by where she danced with various acquaintances, but whenever she wasn’t forcing smiles at her partner, she stared across the room with a mix of hope and dread.

Why couldn’t she just relax? She hated being like this. The anxiety made her sick to her stomach. Dancing was all about joy, but she couldn’t manage more than a scrap of happiness tonight.

After she’d sent her text, she’d tried desperately hard not to think about the ramifications of inviting Bucky Barnes dancing. And she’d done a good job of it. No more speculating about what he’d think of her, no worrying about her face or her clothes or her hair… Well, no more worrying than usual. She’d completely avoided thinking about what would happen if he didn’t come.

Maybe she would have been more prepared for the disappointment settling in her gut if she  _ had _ thought about it.

Jesse smiled absently at her latest partner and went to grab her water bottle. That might help settle her stomach. As she was drinking, Mike ambled over. Jesse quickly put her bottle away and smiled. Dancing with Mike always cheered her up. Hopefully tonight it would work its usual magic.

“Hi, Mike,” she said. “Long time no see.”

“How’s it going?” Mike asked.

“Oh, I’m okay. Nothing…” Jesse trailed off; past Mike, someone had just come in. Someone tall and pale with dark hair and a henley shirt. “Nothing much going on,” she said quickly. “Excuse me!”

She abandoned Mike with a quick smile, heart pounding. As she approached the check-in table, Bucky glanced up. His expression was guarded, but her own face split into a smile.

“You made it!” she exclaimed.

Bucky edged his way into the room. He wasn’t frowning, but he was clearly not yet comfortable. Jesse’s smile faded. She glanced around, wondering what he made of the space. The lighting was more dim than harsh, but there weren’t any dark corners. Just people’s things stuffed on and under chairs lining the edge of the room. Plus full-length mirrors on some of the walls, as in any good dance studio. It seemed entirely safe to her, but she’d grown used to it over the years.

“How are you doing?” she asked.

“Fine,” he said. A muscle twitched in his jaw, and he let out a breath between his teeth before looking at her full-on for the first time. “It’s crowded.”

“Is it?” Jesse blinked, genuinely startled—there was still plenty of room. People were doing full swingouts, for goodness sake. She thought back to her first forays into swing dancing and winced. Yeah, plenty crowded.

“Compared with outside,” he amended. He shook out his shoulders and rolled his head around on his neck. His tension dissipated somewhat, to Jesse’s relief. “For what it is, it’s not really crowded.”

“I was gonna say,” Jesse said with a grin. She hooked her fingers into her back pocket and tapped her hip in time with the music. The current song was close to ending. She glanced up at Barnes, trying to be discreet. Did she dare ask him to dance? She wanted to dance with him, no question, but what would he make of her? He’d asked her before… Wasn’t that how they’d done it back in the day? Would asking him make her seem strange, overeager? Was she just grasping at straws? Was anxiety getting the better of her?

Probably.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Oh, I’m okay.” Jesse pulled her hands out of her pockets and twined them together behind her back. “‘Nothing new under the sun.’”

“What?” He frowned, confused.

“It’s just a bible quote,” Jesse said quickly. “Kohelet—Ecclesiastes, I guess you might know it by. All nihilistic and so on.” At his raised eyebrow, she added, “Fortunately, I am reasonably satisfied by what is already under the sun.”

Barnes shook his head with a chuckle. “Smart.”

That was the third time he’d called her smart. Was he somehow deprived of intelligent company?

“I mean, there’s this, isn’t there?” Jesse gestured towards the dancers, all of them moving amongst each other in a mass of contentment. The music was upbeat, and best of all, no one had come to bother him yet.

“So there is,” he said.

The song ended, and one of Jesse’s favorites began to play. She instinctively glanced around to look for Mike—she always looked for him when this song began.

“Wanna dance?” Barnes asked, disrupting her search.

“Oh—yes please!” Jesse’s heart leapt, and she took his offered hand with a fresh bounce in her step. “I love this song.”

He kept them to the edge of the dance floor, away from as many eyes as possible. When he drew Jesse in to start off, her eyes slid shut in bliss. They were too close to see each other’s faces. Free from the fear of scrutiny, Jesse could finally relax.

It was as good as their first dance together—his solid arm held her close and secure, his quiet breathing in time with her own. He was wearing a glove over his metal hand again. Aside from the texture of the leather, the hand felt as real as her own. Could he tell if she tightened her grip just a litte?

She opened her eyes once they started dancing more apart, with sendouts and spins and swingouts. Jesse sang under her breath, her smile broad. Barnes was more sedate, but a small smile brushed his lips whenever their eyes met.

The only odd moment that whole song was when Jesse was looking elsewhere and she caught Mike’s eye. She smiled, but all he did was stare, lips parted, at her.

And at Bucky Barnes.

The next time she looked in his direction, Mike was gone.

 

* * *

 

**_XXX-XXX-XXXX_ **

_ Today, 5:43 AM _

XXX-XXX-XXXX: ty for the dances

_ 6:34 AM _

Jesse: Thank you too!

Jesse: ☺

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frim Fram Jam is a real swing dance in NYC! You should go.


	4. “Brooklyn Boogie”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse sighed and stuffed her hands between her knees. What was the matter with her? No one warranted this much sustained thought, not even a superhero. If anything, that made it worse. Sure, she’d sighed over a famous person now and again, but she’d never actually met any of them. It was almost a given that they’d be a disappointment after any errant daydreams of perfect, charming strangers swooping in and… well. _And._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky has an ideaaaaaa~
> 
> Song for this chapter is "Brooklyn Boogie" by Louis Prima from _Jumpin’ With The Big Swing Bands_. We’ve got more interaction upcoming, prepare yourself… It might even be less awkward than before XD Hope you enjoy!

_Today, 2:08 PM_

itsadrian: guess what

jesse.kaplan: What?

itsadrian: i googled bucky barnes again

jesse.kaplan: … no

itsadrian: yes

itsadrian: i couldn’t help myself lol

itsadrian: i was surprised

jesse.kaplan: I don’t want to know!!!

jesse.kaplan: I’m serious!!

itsadrian: ok ok! my lips are sealed

itsadrian: … are you planning on seeing him again?

jesse.kaplan: asdfhuihtlsbt

jesse.kaplan: I have WORK TO DO

itsadrian: lol ok ok

 

* * *

 

Adrian was from the internet. Jesse had never met her in person, but Adrian was the person she talked to most. Barely a day went by when they didn’t share some anecdote from their day, though it was rarely anything particularly groundbreaking. Meeting the Winter Soldier was probably the most interesting thing that had ever happened to either of them—Adrian was a receptionist for a contracting firm, and she had ample free time to message. Jesse worked quickly enough to sneak in a few chats during the day, and the timing usually worked out despite the hour difference.

Jesse hadn’t spoken of her encounters with Barnes with anyone else, and dealing with Adrian’s questions had been harrowing enough. Now wasn’t the time to be distracted—another project was coming up, and they needed flyers edited and printed, and…

And Jesse was only just focused enough to carry out the mundane edits, the mundane printing, the mundane going and gathering and envelope-stuffing.

It was really rather remarkable how much effort it took _not_ to think about something. At the printer, she tried not to think about how she’d heard of Barnes’ first visit to Marilyn just here, juggling papers just as now. At her desk, it was about all the times he’d called her smart. On her way home, when she itched to pull out her phone to talk to someone, _anyone_ about it, there was his terrible texting. She’d thought a guy who grew up in the typewriter era would use full words, but he’d adjusted to _that_ aspect of modernity perfectly well.

Jesse sighed and stuffed her hands between her knees. What was the matter with her? No one warranted this much sustained thought, not even a superhero. If anything, that made it worse. Sure, she’d sighed over a famous person now and again, but she’d never actually met any of them. It was almost a given that they’d be a disappointment after any errant daydreams of perfect, charming strangers swooping in and… well. _And_.

Of course, Bucky Barnes was far from perfect. Awkward, uncomfortable, sometimes downright unsettling. The memory of that coldness that crept over him every so often made her shiver even in the heat of the subway. It was almost enough to make her forget his brief bursts of warmth.

But not quite.

Jesse clutched her purse to her side as she hurried up the stairs to street level, five blocks east, and up two flights of stairs to her apartment. She slipped out of her flats and leaned heavily against the door. Fran wasn’t home yet—he went to the gym after work most days—so she had the place to herself for at least another half-hour.

Plenty of time for a cold shower.

 

* * *

 

**_XXX-XXX-XXXX  
_ ** _Today, 6:42 PM_

XXX-XXX-XXXX: i have an idea

XXX-XXX-XXXX: u free sat?

 

* * *

 

Jesse nearly dropped her towel when she checked her phone. She brushed her wet hair back to keep it from dripping on her screen and hastily responded in the affirmative. Then she flopped onto her bed, hair slick against her neck and heart racing.

So much for that cold shower.

 

* * *

 

Saturday was beautiful. Blue sky, fluffy clouds, not so much sun exposure that Jesse had to worry about sunburns or, god forbid, a tan. Bucky had suggested a cafe in Brooklyn Heights; Jesse had googled it yesterday, and it looked reasonable enough. Less than an hour to get there. She had no idea where Barnes lived—and she doubted he knew where she did either—but Brooklyn Heights was where Steve Rogers had grown up. It was Bucky Barnes’ home turf too, whether or not he lived there still.

Jesse got a small table along the wall and sat facing the room. Sitting with her back to a room always raised her hackles, and in this case, well, she was waiting for someone. She tapped her foot, anxious, not at all in time to the quiet music piped in from the ceiling. According to her phone, she was still a few minutes early.

The muted television was playing local news. How could a string of overnight break-ins be unconfirmed? Did they know what unconfirmed meant? Jesse ignored the television and checked her phone, then studied the other customers. The people sitting alone were all either using their phones or reading books. Some were probably doing both. Jesse studied the various groups—a couple here, a trio of laughing high schoolers there. Some senior citizens, some yoga moms.

Did she look alright? She tucked the stray hairs at her temples behind her ears for the hundredth time. She couldn’t do anything more, but that didn’t stop her worrying the inside of her lip. Well, she could adjust her posture. She sat up as straight as she could, then deflated. She didn’t want to look like a board.

The chime of the door was a relief, if only to distract her from her own busy mind. But behind the initial clump of college boys was Bucky Barnes, a cap low on his head and his arms stiff at his sides. His discomfort was palpable, and Jesse winced at his expression. He looked as uncomfortable as he’d first been on Thursday, before he’d relaxed into their first dance. He’d never _really_ recovered—she considered their brief conversation in the hospital elevator the most relaxed he’d been with her yet—but he had calmed down.

She hoped he’d calm down here, too. She didn’t think she could handle the secondhand stress on top of actually listening to whatever he had to say.

Bucky spotted her and made a beeline for her table. She stood up hastily and smiled.

“Hey,” she said.

He hummed in response, sliding neatly into the chair across from her. Jesse sat back down. Apparently they hadn’t reached hugging status. Oh well.

She tucked her phone into her back pocket. “How are you?”

“Fine,” he said. “You?” He wasn’t looking at her. Not directly, at least.

Jesse got the feeling he was sussing out the room. She glanced around again, curiosity rekindled. Trying to see through his eyes was an exercise in creativity. “I’m fine,” she said, attention elsewhere. “Did you want to get something to drink?”

He paused, frowned.

“I can get it, if you want,” she offered, pity overcoming her spending budget.

“No,” he said. He stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. “I can take care of myself.”

“Well, duh,” Jesse said, amusement tinging her annoyance into something bearable. “You don’t always have to, though. Waiting in line is boring.”

“So we can wait together.”

At that, Jesse smiled. “Good call.”

The line was short, and Bucky went unidentified—or at least, unapproached—as they put in their drink orders. He gave his name as James, not Bucky, which gave Jesse pause. Should she call him that, here in public? It didn’t seem necessary. She’d never even spoken his name aloud. Not that she could remember, anyway. She thought of him unnervingly often, sure, but they were worlds apart. Calling him Bucky? Saying the name aloud?

She wasn’t sure she could say it without betraying herself.

And she sure as hell wasn’t going to try today.

“So,” she said once they were back at a table. “You said you had an idea?”

“Yeah.” Bucky gripped his Americano—his hands dwarfed the small cup—and stared at her seriously. “I have an idea for your work.”

“Cool!” Jesse said. “You should talk to Marilyn once she’s better. Or I can connect you with—”

“I want to talk to _you_.”

Jesse blinked, touched. Touched and confused. “Okay, well, here I am. Talk away.”

“I liked teaching those kids,” he said. “They got over… it. _Me_. And they learned. They liked learning.”

“That’s great.” She grinned. He’d gotten that experience partly because of her. There was no harm in feeling smug about her contribution.

“Yeah, it was.” He took a steadying breath. “I want to do it again.”

“Ah?” Jesse blinked. That was good to hear, but why wasn’t he talking to Marilyn again? This all was her department, not Jesse’s. Jesse didn’t have a department.

“Could we do something like that with dancing?”

“Sure! There are loads of great teachers around. It’d be easy to find someone.”

“I already did,” Bucky said. His lips twitched now. He was amused by… her?

“Oh,” she said. Her cheeks flamed. “You meant actual we.”

“Yeah.”

Jesse scrambled to put together a coherent response. Her heart sang—Bucky wanted to _do something_ with her!—but her brain screamed in terror. How could he think this was a good idea?! “I’ve never taught before. I wouldn’t know how to explain what I’m doing!”

“You’re smart, I bet you could figure it out.”

Did he always dismantle concerns so easily? She didn’t feel particularly smart at the moment. “I don’t like crowds,” she tried.

He rolled his eyes. “I managed.”

She cradled her iced mocha, staring down through the plastic lid at the milkiness below. Bucky had managed everything life had thrown at him. Almost dying, losing a limb, brainwashing, cryofreeze, more brainwashing, living as a fugitive… As uncomfortable as he behaved in aimless crowds, they were surely nothing next to all the horrors he’d had to deal with. And while he wasn’t at ease, he didn’t shy away from invitations. At least, not from her.

Jesse, meanwhile, had managed by avoiding all the things she feared and disliked. Unstructured crowds, leadership positions, deeply committed romance… She was fine, she was doing fine, but putting herself in the spotlight was high on her list of things to avoid.

She’d never been brave. She’d been smart. She’d been so smart that she’d never really learned how to screw up, and up to now she’d been too afraid to try.

Jesse snuck a glance at Bucky. He was staring at her over the rim of his cup as he drank. Was he daring her to say yes? Or just waiting for an answer?

What would happen if she said no? Disappointment, no doubt. Disgust, maybe. He might be so disappointed he’d leave her alone. That wouldn’t be so bad, would it? Maybe then she could get over her fixation and keep all that mental energy for her real life.

What would happen if she said _yes_?

BCEI would have to find a school willing to implement their program, and she and Bucky would have to lesson plan together. They would have to practice basic moves together, and then teach them to a crowd of adolescents. The prospect was frightening, but the possibility of working with him, dancing with him, spending time with him—

“I can talk to my boss on Monday,” she found herself saying.

A real smile lit up his face. It was the first time she’d ever seen him so genuinely pleased, and she couldn’t help but smile back. Gosh, his eyes really were that blue. The longer she looked at him, the less she wanted to look away.

“Great,” Bucky said. He knocked on the table with his prosthetic knuckles and lifted his cup towards her. “To something normal. For a change.”

Jesse giggled, delighted by his unusual candidness. “Amen to that!” She tapped her plastic cup against his ceramic mug and drank the last of her mocha.

If Bucky got a kick out of normalcy, well, he’d be thrilled with her. She smiled, teeth still holding onto her straw. She usually hated being called normal, but you know what? From Bucky Barnes, supersoldier, she’d take it.

 

* * *

 

A popular dance band from New Orleans was in town for a special dance event that night in Manhattan. Jesse hadn’t bothered mentioning it to Bucky, figuring she’d do better not to abuse his patience. She’d hopefully see him soon anyway, and this way she could wear one of her 40s dresses without feeling awkward about it. She pinned the front of her hair into swooping rolls and curled the rest into neat waves, then shimmied into her teal dress. She loved wearing it, and she was glad for the excuse. The nipped waist emphasized her figure, and the color made her skin glow; she felt like a vixen, or at least something approaching beautiful. Jesse tramped off to the subway with her oversized purse later than planned but grinning.

Today was a good day.

Once she arrived and paid, she found a corner to change her shoes and immediately spotted a dance friend on the sidelines. They wormed their way into a slot in the crowd, and Jesse’s spirit soared as she danced. Let other people talk up yoga and meditation; _this_ was unfiltered joy right here.

After her first dance, Jesse made a beeline for Mike, who’d been dancing near her.

“Wanna dance?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Mike said, though his smile was dimmer than usual.

They started the new song, which was slow enough to allow for some conversation.

“Your friend is here,” Mike said.

Jesse blinked up at him, confused. “Who?”

“You know.” Mike jerked her head to the left, towards the back edge of the room. Jesse followed his gaze. Her heart skipped a beat.

Bucky was here!

Wait, did Mike think they were friends?

_Were_ they friends? Jesse considered the possibility, but no. They knew too little of each other. They’d never spent time together socially, apart from the Stark Benefit. And their coffee this morning didn’t count. That was for work, not the pleasure of each other’s company. They’d danced together, sure, but a few dances, however memorable, were no basis for a friendship.

Well, if they weren’t friends, they _were_ friendly. She didn’t bother correcting Mike. She’d rather dance than argue semantics. Besides, Bucky probably wouldn’t appreciate being spoken about. Did supersoldiers have super hearing? Jesse glanced in Bucky’s direction, but the crowd had shifted and she couldn’t make him out. Whether he did or not, she’d rather keep quiet. Her relationship with Bucky, whatever it was, wasn’t Mike’s business. And there was certainly no harm in keeping her secret pleasure at his assumption to herself. If someone from a distance fancied they were friends, maybe one day it would be possible.

The dance with Mike was as invigorating as usual. When the dance turned her in the right direction, Jesse couldn’t help looking across the room in the off-chance she’d be able to make out Bucky in the crowd. She turned back to face Mike after one search and found him studying her with a frown.

“What’s up?” she asked.

Mike shook his head and averted his gaze. “Nothing.” He drew her in for a spin. “Just thinking.”

“Happens to the best of us.” Jesse didn’t expect a response to her snark, but Mike surprised her.

“Is he worth the stress?”

“Huh?”

Mike was making zero sense tonight. Jesse stared up at him, but from closed position she couldn’t see past his chin.

“Him. You know. Bad stuff happens around people like that.”

Understanding dawned at last. Mike was _worried_ about her.

“Nothing’s happened so far, just some dancing,” Jesse told him. “I think that’s pretty normal.”

“It’s not normal for someone like that to come dancing,” Mike said darkly.

“Well, maybe it should be,” Jesse retorted. “Why shouldn’t he have some fun for a change?”

Mike sighed. “Sorry, sorry. Just—sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Jesse said automatically. The song ended there, and Mike stepped back from her quickly. He didn’t meet her eye. “It’s okay, Mike. I appreciate the concern, but it’s fine. Really.”

Mike smiled absently. “Here’s hoping.” He clapped her on the shoulder and strode away.

Jesse’s stomach twisted unpleasantly and her blood pounded in her ears. She abandoned the dance floor, too disturbed by Mike’s insinuations to seek Bucky out just yet.

What right did Mike have to say Bucky shouldn’t go dancing? After all Bucky had been through, he deserved as many chances at a good time as the rest of them. More so, even. Jesse hadn’t fought in the army, American or otherwise. She hadn’t helped dismantle any evil organizations either. Bucky had earned his good time, thank you very much.

Jesse pulled her water bottle out of her purse and drank, still facing away from the crowd. She knew how to avoid being asked to dance. Right now, she had no desire to force a smile. She wished she could go back, get Mike, and tell him how wrong he was, how unjust!

But confrontation was so not her style that the very thought deflated her. Her shoulders slumped. She collapsed into one of the chairs along the side of the room, holding her water bottle between her knees. Mike was allowed to express his concerns, and they weren’t entirely invalid. Crazy shit _did_ happen around people like Bucky. The alien invasion had started at Avengers Tower. Sokovia, the bombing at the Accords… Mike wasn’t wrong.

But apart from the Stark benefit, all the places she’d met Bucky were off the usual radar for strange events. A coffee shop, dance halls, a hospital. Everyday normal places. If everyday normal places were suspect now, what even was the point? Life had to go on.

Someone sat next to her, and Jesse glanced over. Bucky tilted his head in her direction. His hair was tucked behind his ear, and his dress shirt sleeves were rolled up over a long-sleeved undershirt, hiding his arms. Though he wasn’t smiling, he wasn’t uncomfortable. He held out his metal hand to her without a word.

Jesse looked up at his face. Bucky was looking out at the crowd with little of the reservation he’d worn on Thursday. Somehow, he’d gotten over his discomfort.

She took his hand and let him lead her onto the floor.

Life had to go on.

For all of them.


	5. "The Mooche"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who would break in to her apartment? It was laughable. There were other, richer people in her neighborhood—even in her building. She lived on the third floor, for heaven’s sake. Nothing was missing, and there was nothing worth anyone’s salt on her computer or in her phone anyway. By lunchtime she was almost laughing at herself, and then she got a text from Bucky asking about the evening dance. Mike’s ominous warning echoed in her mind.
> 
> _“Bad stuff happens around people like that.”_

Jesse sat cross-legged at the tiny desk in her bedroom, waiting for her parents’ biweekly video call. They had emigrated to Israel once she’d graduated college, about five years back. Jesse had only seen them in person four times since then, twice in New York and twice abroad. These calls were more for their sake than Jesse’s. She was generally happy to limit their conversation to emails or audio, but her mom in particular craved actual face time. Jesse wasn’t sure why—the only difference was that Jesse got nitpicky comments about her hair when they spoke face-to-face.

Once her parents called, Jesse sighed, smoothed back her hair, and answered.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Shalom, motek,” Jesse’s mom said. _Hi, cutie._ “How are you?”

“Fine, fine.” Jesse twiddled her thumbs in her lap. Her mom looked the same as ever. Pale like Jesse, with darkly graying hair and casual clothes despite Sunday being a workday in Israel. Everything was more casual in Israel, or so it seemed to Jesse. “How’re you?”

“Oh, lovely!” Susan said. “We went to the theater with our neighbors last week, it was fantastic.”

“Hi, Jesse,” Jesse’s dad cut in. He leaned in from out of the frame and waved. “Don’t believe your mother, the theater here is fine. Fantastic is pushing it.”

Jesse grinned. “Hi, Dad. Not up to your standards?”

“Nothing beats Broadway.”

“Exaggerate all you want, Joshua,” Jesse’s mom said, smirking. “You were crying too.”

“So what if I was?” Joshua withdrew. “I need to go put gas in the car before everywhere closes for the night. Talk to you soon, kiddo!”

“Bye, Dad. Have fun.” Jesse waved, though he couldn’t see her; she could hear him leaving.

Susan sighed as the door slammed, then smiled at Jesse. “Well, so how are you, cutie?”

“Fine, Mom. I already said so.”

“You look nice today. Your hair’s neat for a change.”

Jesse bristled. “Thanks,” she forced. “What was the play about?”

“Oh, it was a new production of _Ghetto_ by Joshua Sobol. Israel’s most famous playwright, you know.”

“I do know,” Jesse said. “I’m glad you liked it.”

“Thanks, dear. So what have you been up to? Made any new friends?”

Jesse pressed her lips together. How was it that her mother managed to get under her skin so damn easily? Jesse _had_ friends. Adrian, Mike, Zach from work, other dancers… Bucky. Well, he was new. She’d only met him a week ago. And from a distance, she could tell her mother as little as she liked.

“I had to go to a benefit for work, and I met someone there,” Jesse said.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, he did some work with BCEI and he wants to do more.”

“Is he nice?”

“So far, yeah.”

“What’s his name?”

Jesse paused. “James.” It wasn’t a complete lie. That _was_ his name, just not the one he used with her. “He dances too,” she added.

“Oh, how nice.” Susan smiled slyly, though she said nothing more about it.

Jesse could have kicked herself. Why did she have to say so much? She never told her mom anything. Susan basically knew Bucky’s whole life story in comparison to what she knew about Jesse’s other friends. Now her mother would get ideas, wrong ideas, _bad_ ideas. Just because Jesse had stray longings didn’t mean anything was going to happen. Or that anything _could_ happen.

If Mike’s assumption that she and Bucky were friends ever came to pass, Jesse would be more than satisfied. There wasn’t rational hope for anything more. Bucky might have raised a glass to normalcy, but Jesse knew his real life wasn’t going anywhere.

If she could provide him a brief reprieve, she’d be satisfied. God knew he deserved it.

 

* * *

 

Bucky’s proposal to teach swing dancing to local students went over better at work than Jesse had expected. Marilyn was still working from home, and she skyped in to the Monday meeting that Jesse took notes for with the director Robin and Zach, who worked under Marilyn in programming. Jesse waited until the end of the meeting to float the idea. Robin raised her eyebrows, Zach stared at Jesse in surprise, but Marilyn said, “That sounds fantastic!”

Jesse relaxed a little as Marilyn talked through various logistical issues and how to avoid them—keep the session short, get a signed contract, have access to back-up instructors ‘just in case.’

“I’ll get in touch with Bucky myself,” Marilyn continued, “and we’ll put together a proper proposal for you, Robin.”

“Alright,” Robin said. “Thanks.”

The meeting ended, though Marilyn asked Jesse to stay back. Once Zach and Robin left, Marilyn smiled more broadly at Jesse. “Was this your idea, Jesse? I won’t tell.”

“No,” Jesse said, surprised. “I had nothing to do with it.”

“Well, I’m sure that’s not true,” Marilyn said. “You’ve inspired him! He went to you, not me.”

“You’re still on bed rest,” Jesse retorted. “If anything, props to him for not bothering you!”

“Fair enough,” Marilyn said, laughing. “Well, thanks for keeping him involved! I think it’s good for BCEI, having a famous face around.”

“Sure,” Jesse said. She did not mention how much she suspected he’d hate to be spoken of that way.

Even if Marilyn was right.

 

* * *

 

**_Francisco Pérez  
_ ** _Tuesday, 6:57 PM_

Francisco: Yooo sorry for last minute, but can you water the succulents on my windowsill?

Jesse: Sure, though I might kill them by mistake... Send me hyper-accurate watering directions for minimum casualties

Francisco: THANKS

Francisco: I’ll send you an email

Jesse: Righto, have fun in Iceland! Safe travels!

 

* * *

 

On Friday morning, Jesse woke with her alarm. She rolled over in bed, reaching blindly for her phone with a groan. It had been a particularly late night—she’d gone back to Frim Fram Jam, and though she hadn’t reached out Bucky had been there too. Mike hadn’t, oddly, but Jesse was still bitter enough about their conversation on Saturday that she was more relieved than anything. Without Mike to fill up her metaphorical dance card, she’d gotten more dances with Bucky than she’d hoped for.

Of course, she’d stayed far later than usual for the pleasure, and now she was suffering for it. Most mornings she was up ten, twenty minutes before her alarm. Getting up at the last minute never suited her well, and her eyes still weren’t fully open when she stumbled into the dark bathroom. She made her way to the toilet and reached down to open the lid, but she missed.

Jesse’s outstretched arm went straight into the toilet. She yelped; she managed to grip the lip of the toilet with her other hand but—

Oh my god, why was the lid up?

Jesse leapt to her feet, right arm dripping. She quickly turned the tub on, then turned back, holding her arm over the tub, and stared with newly wide eyes at the toilet. Now that she’d been startled awake, she could see that it wasn’t just the lid. The seat was up too!

“Oh god oh god oh god,” she muttered. Her stomach and toes curled in on themselves, and she whirled back and fell to her knees on the shower mat. She thrust her wet arm under the lukewarm water and fumbled above her head for the shower soap. Jesse scrubbed at her arm furiously until the water began to scald her skin and steam clouded her vision.

She sat back on her heels and turned off the water. Her right arm was raw and red below the elbow, and her fingers had begun to pucker.

Jesse took a steadying breath and twisted to look back at her toilet.

The lid and seat were up. How could that have happened? She didn’t leave the seat up. Sure, she’d cleaned the toilet yesterday afternoon, but she’d surely used it again since then. Hadn’t she?

Jesse pushed her frizzy hair back from her face and frowned. She thought so, but… maybe she was wrong. She had taken the subway home with a dance friend in the neighborhood, but she hadn’t invited them up, had she? No, she would have remembered, surely. Wouldn’t she have remembered?

Something niggled at the back of her mind. She was forgetting something… Something about the hospital, something about the coffee shop, something not quite about Bucky… Jesse banged her head against the tub, trying to remember. Then it came to her.

_A string of break-ins._

Maybe nothing had happened. Maybe she’d just left the toilet up yesterday afternoon.

Or maybe someone had broken in and used the toilet.

Jesse drew in a sharp breath. The hair on her arms and the back of her neck stood on end. With her white noise app running, would she even have heard it? She sometimes heard Fran moving around in the morning, but not until she was already awake.

She climbed slowly to her feet and went out into the common space, giving the toilet as much berth as she could. Nothing looked out of place at first glance. The toaster was still unplugged; the dishrack had a single plate, fork, and knife in it; the chairs at the tiny table were pushed in.

But had she left her computer on the counter, or at the table? Plugged in or not? Tears pricked Jesse’s eyes as she clutched the back of her neck. Nothing was missing. If someone had broken in, wouldn’t they have taken everything of value? Would they have bothered to double-lock the door on their way out? Why couldn’t her brain just do its fucking job and remember, once and for all?

Jesse glanced at the half-closed door to Fran’s room. Her heart raced, but she scurried over and, after a silent deep breath, kicked it open.

Empty. Totally empty. His tiny closet was open, and it was empty too, apart from his clothes and a haphazard pile of shoes. Jesse sagged against the doorframe, eyes wet. She blinked until a few tears fell and wiped them hastily away.

Was she just being paranoid? She couldn’t think of a single thing missing. All of Fran’s stuff was still in there, too—his gaming monitor, his nice headset… The iPhone speaker system by the couch was still there too. Jesse sank onto the couch and hugged her knees to her chest, staring at the sound system. Should she call the police? Would anyone believe her—would anyone make enough of the little oddities in her home to do anything other than laugh at her? No, how could they? Why would anyone break in to do… nothing? She _must_ be overreacting. Just a series of coincidences. She’d gotten home late last night. She was still exhausted from a short night’s sleep. Whatever she thought was suspicious had a rational explanation. She hadn’t used the toilet last night; she’d just left it up after cleaning it. She had used her laptop at the counter while washing dishes.

Jesse took deep shuddering breaths until her breathing was back to nearly normal. She glanced at the clock—shit, she was running late now. She went to the bathroom, this time shutting the toilet properly, and went through the rest of her morning routine. Stray remnants of panic overtook her as she was getting dressed, and she had to clutch the wall to refocus. She braided her damp hair across her head and down one shoulder; the end began to drip onto her blouse, but she ignored it.

She tightened the strap of her purse across her body and gave the apartment one last once-over as she slipped into her flats.

Normal. Perfectly normal.

Jesse double locked the door and bounded down the steps and out the door towards the metro. Everything was normal—the crowds, the traffic… Her commute was normal, she was a few minutes early as usual, and she started up her computer without a hitch. She slouched in her chair, curling her toes under her desk, and stared blankly towards the front door of BCEI’s office suite. She forced a smile as people trickled in.

Zach from programming doubled back, his eyes crinkled in concern. “Hey, Jesse, you okay?”

“Oh—yeah, yeah.” Jesse sat up quickly and scooted her chair in. “Late night, that’s all,” she chirped.

“Ooh, that sucks,” Zach said. He ran a hand through his stiff black hair and shook his head. “I feel that.”

Jesse smiled up at him as he ambled off. Zach was nice; he was less than a year older than her, and he was approachable and relaxed. They’d gone out for drinks a few times and shared good-natured complaints about the hardass in charge of marketing, among other things. But they weren’t close enough for Jesse to feel comfortable sharing her early morning anxieties.

The smile slid off Jesse’s face. She sighed and rubbed her forehead. How was she going to be productive today? She was usually a rock star at work. But even getting set up was taking her—shit, twenty minutes? She scrambled to finish her starting routine.

Nothing about the rest of her day didn’t suck. In addition to skipping breakfast, she’d forgotten to bring lunch, and she was too behind in her work to have time to eat anything more substantial than a granola bar Zach gave her—out of pity, no doubt. Every stray noise at work made her start, shredding her nerves to bits. She didn’t get a seat on either subway home, either. By the time she made it up to her apartment, she was too exhausted to do any better than a few slices off a block of cheddar cheese, which almost left her worse off than before.

Jesse collapsed onto her bed, still fully dressed, and lay prostrate on the quilt. Tears leaked from her eyes as she half waited for the front door to open and for someone to break in—again? For the first time? Had she even locked the door on her way in? She was too tired to go look.

She kicked her shoes off—only one actually fell onto the floor, the other landed somewhere out of reach on the bed. She had wanted to do laundry, finish her book, go dancing. She’d meant to go out. She’d even promised dances to a few people. But there was nothing for it. She was in no shape to go out, not when her gut cramped and her head spun. Distant noises from the building—a pipe groaning, a door slamming—made her flinch, but she was too exhausted to do anything more than that.

She cried herself to an early sleep.

 

* * *

 

Jesse woke with the dawn. She reached blindly for her phone, then realized it was still in her purse in the other room. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, staring down at her rumpled clothes in mild horror. God, how tired had she been? How long had she slept?

Too long, apparently. Her mouth was dry and her head throbbed with the telltale signs of dehydration. Ugh.

Jesse spent the morning lazily. She _had_ locked the door on her way in last night—thank god for ingrained habits—and she changed out of her dirty work clothes into a cotton tunic and leggings. Much better for lounging. She mindlessly browsed the internet, refilling her water cup as often as she could bear to stand. The longer she sat at the kitchen table, her legs propped up on the second chair and friendly music playing from the stereo, the more she felt silly about yesterday’s paranoia.

Who would break in to her apartment? It was laughable. There were other, richer people in her neighborhood—even in her building. She lived on the third floor, for heaven’s sake. Nothing was missing, and there was nothing worth anyone’s salt on her computer or in her phone anyway. By lunchtime she was almost laughing at herself, and then she got a text from Bucky asking about the evening dance. Mike’s ominous warning echoed in her mind.

_“Bad stuff happens around people like that.”_

A chill ran through her. Jesse slammed her computer shut, silencing her peppy music, and clenched her fists. She took deep breaths through her teeth, all the forgotten anxiety flooding back.

“Dammit, Mike!” she muttered, eyes stinging. It took close to ten minutes to calm down enough to think rationally again.

What the hell. Why would someone break into her apartment to get to Bucky? She knew nothing special about him. All she knew—all that anything in her apartment would reveal—was that he’d gone dancing recently. How could that possibly be worth the trouble of a stealthy break-in in a multi-unit apartment building? And whatever Mike said or thought, there was really nothing to indicate she’d know more! Dancing with someone, however close, was not an indication of _actual_ closeness.

Even if Bucky was a recluse, there had to be a more substantial lead than her. Wouldn’t anyone with the guts to go after Bucky need to be good enough to do better? Iron Man, the Falcon… Any random SHIELD operative, even. Surely they were the ones worth targeting, not her. Bucky had said so himself—she was normal, a nobody. If they could find her out, they had to be able to find out where Bucky lived himself. _She_ certainly had no idea. But it couldn’t be any more complicated than just following Bucky home from dancing instead of her.

No.

Mike was wrong, _she_ was wrong. Everything was fine. Everything was normal. She just needed to get over herself, and everything would be okay.

 

* * *

 

“We should lesson plan,” Jesse said to Bucky that night. She was sitting on the side of the room to recover from a string of uptempo songs, and for the first time she’d asked for a break before they danced. He’d promptly sat down beside her, which made her smile. Supersoldiers didn’t need to rest; he was here just for her sake. “The proposal is probably going to get approval, so it’d be good to have at least one lesson ready. Especially since the content of the first few lessons tend to get repeated quite a bit.”

“I thought you’d never done this before,” Bucky remarked.

Jesse blushed. “No, but I reached out to a friend who teaches at my alma mater. She lent me a few lesson plans, just so I could see what they looked like. They’re too barebones for my taste though. And we should figure out how we’re doing it ourselves.”

Bucky hummed. “You are full of information.”

“Is that a bad thing?” she asked, a little nervous. But he shook his head seriously.

“It’s good to be prepared.”

Jesse studied him out of the corner of her eye. Bucky was lost in thought. She wondered what was on his mind, but she had the feeling he wouldn’t answer even if she asked. For all that she’d seen him often these last two weeks, she still knew very little about him.

“Have you ever taught before?” she asked. It seemed like a safe question, compared to anything else. He tilted his head towards her, still not looking in her direction. “Apart from the Great Depression thing, I mean.”

“Yes,” he said slowly. “I have.” He fell silent again, his face darkening. The hair on the back of Jesse’s neck stood on end; he looked almost as frightening as her first glimpse of him back at the Stark benefit, when he’d frowned so sternly at her. But after a moment, he shook his head, expression lightening a touch. “Not in a classroom setting. Not… applicable.”

“Yeah,” Jesse said, as lightly as she could. “I feel that.” She bent in her seat to stretch her legs, staring out at the crowd. She recognized a bunch of people, including Mike. Mike hadn’t approached her yet; she couldn’t tell if he was avoiding her. As much as his comments had pissed her off and caused her anxiety, she was sure he’d meant well. And she missed dancing with him. It was worth apologizing, even if only for that.

But first…

A new song began, and Jesse’s lips curled into a smile. Slow, languid—a perfect song for dancing with Bucky.

“I’m good if you still want to dance,” she said.

“Mm,” he answered. He stood smoothly; she bounced to her feet and followed him onto the dance floor, barely containing her grin. Whatever else was going on, or wasn’t going on and was just in her head, these moments made it all worth it. She draped her arm over his and took his hand. He drew her close, and they started to dance.

Jesse’s head was turned outwards. She didn’t see anything around them; she was too focused on the warmth of his hand on her back and the feel of his strong arm under hers. The song was still in its quiet introduction, just quiet enough that Jesse could tell their breathing was matched. Her eyes slid shut, and she just breathed with him. It was the simplest dance she’d ever had, and yet she was completely satisfied.

At one point, Jesse turned her head to look up at him. Bucky glanced down with a little smile and fondly squeezed her right hand in his metal one. She smiled back and looked away, overwhelmed with sudden headiness. Heat flooded her face, her chest; her whole body warmed as they moved in tandem. She was too afraid to look at him again, not with so much heat in her face. She tried to keep her breathing even with his, though her heart was pounding. He didn’t need to know about the longing tightening in her ribcage, pooling in her gut—

No, he didn’t need to know. She could keep it to herself, where it belonged. To herself, she could only think that she’d never felt so agonized by a feeling that should have been wonderful.

Once the song ended, Jesse escaped quickly and went to the bathroom. She splashed cold water on her face, willing the flush to recede. It was dim in the ballroom, but not nearly dim enough to hide the glow in her cheeks. She glanced surreptitiously at the others going in and out; all the other white women had red in their cheeks too. From a different heat than hers, she suspected.

But it was awfully hot, though thankfully not particularly humid, tonight. Jesse studied her face in the mirror once she’d dried off. Any lingering blush on her cheeks could safely pass for an effect of the temperature. The rest… well, she’d just have to live with it. Dealing with her inexplicable want was on her, not anyone else. Not Bucky.

If she was smart about it, she’d probably pull back. Stop dancing with him so eagerly, stop with the plan for teaching together, stop checking for his texts.

But just the thought of dropping him so neatly gave her a pang of grief. He didn’t deserve to be abandoned. He shouldn’t have to deal with her issues any more than he made her deal with his.

Jesse shook her head and strode out of the bathroom, the heels of her dance shoes clicking on the floor. Time to face the music.

 

* * *

 

Jesse did talk to Mike that night, though less than an hour before the end. Jesse spotted him from the center of the crowd; Bucky had already left, and with him gone she felt better about approaching Mike once the song was over.

“Hey Mike,” she said.

“Hi,” Mike said. He put his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his feet. “How’s it going?”

“I’m alright,” Jesse said. “I wanted to talk to you about—”

“I said some dumb things,” Mike said quickly. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” Jesse blinked up at him, then smiled. “Well, thanks. I was going to apologize too. Would you like to dance?”

“Sure,” Mike said, and it was almost as good as that wonderful dance with Bucky. Once it was over, Mike squeezed her shoulders in a one-armed hug. “You coming out on Thursday?”

“Of course!”

He looked down at her. His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t be surprised if you see me before then.”

“Oookay,” Jesse said, bemused. “Well, um, I guess I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, no doubt,” Mike said. He squeezed her shoulders one more time and vanished into the crowd.

So much for an ease of tension!


	6. "Chant in the Night"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What’s up with your sleeping?”
> 
> Jesse fiddled in her freezer for ice cubes. Did she dare tell him about the scare last Thursday? She was pretty sure it was just a case of a distorted memory, but… No, no, Bucky didn’t need to hear about her problems. He never shared his with her. The least she could do was follow his lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for this chapter is “Chant in the Night” by Professor Cunningham And His Old School from The Rhythm Method.
> 
> The plot thickens this chapter; buckle up!!! Hope you enjoy :3

By the time Jesse got home from work on Monday, Bucky was due for lesson planning in less than fifteen minutes. The effects of Marilyn’s prolonged absence from the office were starting to take root. Between that and her own lingering anxiety about last Friday morning, Jesse had stayed late once again to finish everything on her plate. She hadn’t succeeded, but she had to get home to meet Bucky. Work would have to wait.

Jesse scurried around the apartment, trying to meet her guest-coming-over cleanliness standard. She cleaned the toilet—her skin crawled at the memory of dunking her arm—and did a hasty sweep of the bathroom and kitchen to pick up anything that had accumulated in the corners. Were the surfaces clear enough? The papers on the coffee table were in a single pile, and the top was just a shopping list—perfectly uninformative and bland. The counters were clean, with just a few dishes in the dishrack, but she ran her squeegee across the counter to get any crumbs in the sink.

The buzzer rang; Jesse froze with squeegee in hand. She quickly brushed the crumbs into the sink and ran to the buzzer unit on her wall.

“Hello?” she said into the speaker.

“It’s me.”

_Bucky_.

An unbidden smile appeared on her face as she pressed the button to let him in, and then she turned around and flinched. She still needed to do a few things—close Fran’s door, run the sink to get rid of the crumbs. A knock at the door came as she was closing her own bedroom door, and she dashed to turn off the sink before opening the door.

There he was. Bucky was typing something on his phone—a grammatical monstrosity of a text? She couldn’t tell. He was dressed similarly to that time at the coffee shop, with a baseball hat and a long shirt that didn’t quite disguise his musculature. Jesse tried not to stare. Fortunately, he finished typing in a moment. Bucky put his phone in his pocket and gave a tight smile.

“Sorry,” he said as he came inside. “It couldn’t wait.”

Jesse locked the door. “If it’s urgent, we can reschedule…”

“No, no.” Bucky crossed his arms and leaned against the partition wall between the kitchen and living room. His smile was lighter now. “Not that kind of urgent.”

“Good, I hope!” Jesse said. She bit the inside of her lip. She usually asked people to take off their shoes, but Bucky was wearing combat boots, of all things. Better not. “How are you?”

“Alive,” he said.

She snorted. “I feel that. Haven’t slept properly in days.”

“No?” Bucky tilted his head and fixed his eyes on hers. Worry wrinkled his brow. The concern written on his face sent a swoop through her; she swallowed.

“No,” Jesse repeated. She went to grab a cup of water; it wasn’t hot in the apartment, so why was she so warm? “Want something to drink?”

“I’m good. What’s up with your sleeping?”

Jesse fiddled in her freezer for ice cubes. Did she dare tell him about the scare last Thursday? She was pretty sure it was just a case of a distorted memory, but… No, no, Bucky didn’t need to hear about her problems. He never shared his with her. The least she could do was follow his lead.

“Just had some bad nights, I guess. I think I screwed my schedule up with all the late evenings.”

Bucky didn’t respond. Once she’d filled her cup, Jesse turned to look at him, but he’d left his perch by the wall. She made her way into the living room and saw Bucky inspecting the photo arrangement over the couch. He’d left his hat on the coffee table; she could see his whole face now, and he was frowning.

“Who is this?” He pointed to one of the many pictures with Fran.

“Oh, that’s my roommate. His photos have the gold frames. Mine are all silver.”

“Huh.” Bucky studied the photos for another minute, then turned to her with his face set with determination. “So what’s the plan?”

“Let me pull up what I’ve got, and we can go over it…”

Jesse grabbed her laptop and opened the document her college friend had sent. She talked Bucky through the different steps—warm-up, introduction, basic footwork, open position, closed position, dancing together, so on and so forth—and Jesse tested out various wordings for explaining the different motions and moves before typing it out in the lesson plan document. Bucky just typed, but he didn’t edit at all. Jesse looked over his work whenever he tilted the screen in her direction, but it was always solidly done. He must have had a lot of practice planning without making a sound.

It only took about an hour and a half to get through two lessons. Getting through the basics for total beginners didn’t exactly go at a clipping pace.

“Hopefully the kids are as enthusiastic as the ones from your other workshop,” Jesse said. She scratched the back of her neck. All the dance lessons she’d taken involved willing participants; plopping into a middle school to teach unsuspecting preteens wasn’t necessarily going to go so smoothly.

“Enthusiasm is catchy.” Bucky typed up his last comments. He shut the laptop and set it aside on the coffee table, then leaned his elbows on his knees and smiled ruefully at her. His eyes were bright, open. “You do a good job of it.”

Jesse snorted and propped her feet on the coffee table. “You haven’t seen me in front of a crowd.”

“I bet you could fake it,” he said.

“If I can, so could you,” she countered with a cheeky smile. “At least, I suspect so.”

“Yeah?” Bucky’s lips twitched, though he wasn’t smiling yet.

“I’ve seen you smile before,” she teased. “Properly, I mean.”

Bucky laughed out loud. Still grinning, Jesse surreptitiously studied the laugh lines on his face. For all his reserve, he was able to smile around her, and now laugh. How had she gotten so lucky? How many people could say they’d seen Bucky Barnes laugh because of them?

Not many.

He stood up and headed to the door, still chuckling. “We’ll find out when we get started,” he said. He unlocked the deadbolt and turned back to her. “Should we meet again before then?”

“Marilyn wanted at least five lesson plans set before we start,” Jesse told him.

“I’ll be out of town for at least part of the week,” Bucky said, his expression more serious than before.

“Okay.” Jesse’s heartbeat kicked up a notch, though she tried not to let it show. Out of town doing what? Did he have some work—dangerous work? Would he be okay? Would he come back? Or was he just going off to visit a friend? Did he have friends? She clenched her teeth against the avalanche of questions building in her brain. “How about next Sunday morning?”

He pulled out his phone again. “Should work. Here again?”

“Ye—no, we should take advantage of bagels,” Jesse decided. “There’s a great bagel place on Prospect Park West, two blocks south of the park.”

“Fine,” Bucky said. He pulled on his cap, shielding his eyes from her. “Ten okay?”

“Works for me.”

Bucky opened the door and tilted his head up to look her in the face without his hat obstructing his vision. He wasn’t smiling, but there was a softness in his blue eyes that set her heart beating fast. “Good luck sleeping.” He slipped out and shut the door.

Jesse sat on the arm of her couch and fell back onto the couch, feet dangling. All things considered, that had gone awfully well. She’d made him smile; she’d made him _laugh_. He’d looked more carefree in that moment, with his hair tucked back behind one ear and his eyes crinkling with genuine amusement, than anyone she’d ever seen. How could he consider anything he did normal? He was extraordinary, every step of the way.

 

* * *

 

_Today, 9:08 PM_

itsadrian: i finally beat that game!!!

jesse.kaplan: nice!!

jesse.kaplan: did it have a good ending?

itsadrian: surprisingly, yes

itsadrian: i was def expecting some cop outs on the tough stuff, but nope

itsadrian: they did a good

jesse.kaplan: haha, good!

itsadrian: what are you up to tonight?

jesse.kaplan: picking up my takeout

jesse.kaplan: I had a late meeting

itsadrian: what for?

jesse.kaplan: dancing stuff

itsadrian: uh huh…

itsadrian: with someone in particular? :P

 

* * *

 

Jesse couldn’t help the smile on her face as she stuffed her phone back in her purse. Adrian had the subtlety of a ton of bricks. Jesse wasn’t sure if she was smiling over fondness for Adrian or because of _someone in particular_ , as Adrian had put it. Adrian usual made her smile, but so could Bucky, when he wasn’t awkward or frightening. Which was more and more, lately.

She crossed the street, and from there it was steps to the Chinese restaurant. Jesse went in and gave her name at the counter, but the cashier frowned at her.

“Someone picked that up already,” he said.

Jesse’s eyebrows went up. “What?”

“Sweet and sour chicken and veggie dumplings for Jesse?”

“Yes, that was for me,” Jesse said. “Steamed dumplings.” Her stomach growled, and the cashier winced.

“Someone picked that up a few minutes ago,” he said. “He knew the order, so I assumed… Even the steamed bit. One sec.”

He went back into the kitchen and started speaking Chinese to the chef. Jesse turned away, lips pursed and stomach panging. Of all the nights! She was already starving. And the news on the tv over the other wall was full of disturbing stories again. 

> [ A Brooklyn woman has returned home after
> 
> [ five 5 days missing. Authorities report th

The cashier came back quickly, and Jesse turned away from the tv.

“We’ll get another order made up right away. So sorry,” the cashier said.

“Thanks,” Jesse said. She made her way to the counter and stools by the front window and perched there, frowning at the other patrons.

What the hell? This was bizarre. She’d been coming here at least once a month for the last year and a half, and nothing like this had ever happened before. She’d always called in an order, waltzed in fifteen minutes later, and picked it up. Boom, done. How had someone gotten their order mixed up with hers? Was there another Jesse out there with the same tastes?

No, that couldn’t be it. If that was the case, there would be a second order that she could take instead. Someone _knew_ her order. Despite the heat of the restaurant, Jesse couldn’t help the chill that ran up her spine. She adjusted her gray dress over her leggings self-consciously. How could someone have known her order? She’d called in it at home—from her bedroom, no less.

Her stomach dropped; she rubbed her right arm, trying to get rid of the phantom feeling of wetness there. Did this have something to do with last Friday? She’d been working hard to convince herself the toilet and all the rest had been nothing, just a series of happenstances she’d brought about herself, but now… Now she was back to square one. She couldn’t figure a way for this to have been a coincidence, or anything else she could explain away. Her order was specific enough— _steamed_ dumplings weren’t even on the menu! She’d asked for them special. How could someone have known that without listening in on her? Could they have read the receipt on her takeaway bag? She glanced behind the counter, but the completed orders were off in the kitchen with the orders obscured by a pile of unassembled boxes.

So. Someone was listening in on her. How? Something in her apartment, or just hacking the phone lines? If there had been a break-in last week, she knew which was more likely, but she was less and less certain of the truth. Nothing made any sense. Who would spy on a conversation just to steal some takeout? Or was this about something else?

Was this… about Bucky?

Jesse’s eyes prickled; she pressed her lips together and stared at the ceiling. _God, let it not be about Bucky._ She shuddered a little and pulled her phone from her purse. The blank screen stared up at her.

Should she text him? Call him, even? No, she couldn’t do that. They weren’t on calling terms. And if he wasn’t traveling, he was alone, enjoying some privacy. Jesse shoved her phone back in her purse and crossed her arms tight over her chest. She was supposed to be a normal thing in his life. He’d looked so pleased at the possibility. They’d toasted to it, together. If she couldn’t give him normalcy, what good was she?

Her stomach growled again. Jesse grimaced. She needed a plan, one that didn’t involve Bucky. She still had no idea where he lived, but she doubted he lived close enough to actually be of help. The closest police station was less than a mile away. She could go there—get an Uber, a cab, whatever came first.

But first, food.

She waited there for another five minutes, her whole body tense and her purse clutched tight on her lap. The place got a little busy at one point, and a stocky man bumped into her, poking her arm with his keys. He apologized, but Jesse just gave a tight smile and went to sit further away from the door.

When her food was finally ready, the cashier brought it out to her with a tense smile. “Sorry about that,” he said. “We threw in some egg rolls for free.”

A smile ghosted past Jesse’s lips as she took the stapled back from him. “Thank you so much,” she said. “Sorry for the confusion.”

Jesse slid off her chair and stumbled. The waiter grabbed her by the arm.

“Are you alright?” he asked, eyes wide.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she said quickly. She pulled away, stood up straight, and rolled each ankle. “Just sat still for too long! I’m calling a cab, so no worries.”

Jesse gingerly sat back down and called a cab line. She kept an eye out of the front window, though exhaustion was catching up with her fast. Her vision was beginning to blur, and her limbs were tired. She blinked rapidly and pinched her arm.

A cab pulled up to the restaurant, and Jesse perked up in relief. She slid carefully off the high stool and made her way outside. She tried to pull open the back door of the cab, but her hands were as compliant as wet rags. The driver turned in his seat to raise his eyebrows at her, and Jesse gave a harried, apologetic smile and tried again. This time even her wrists didn’t engage.

“Let me help.”

Jesse turned her head and blinked groggily up at the same stocky man who’d bumped into her a few minutes before. He put a hand on her elbow to move her a little out of the way, and Jesse sucked in a harsh breath. Keys? He hadn’t bumped into her with keys! He’d _done_ something to her! She tried to pull away, but all her strength had seeped away. Keeping herself upright was almost more than she could manage, but she shook her arm as much as she could, heart racing.

“Dun touch me!” Jesse meant to shout, but her words were barely a groan.

The stocky man ignored her. He opened the door and maneuvered her inside, then slid in beside her. The moment he closed the door, the driver peeled away from the curb.

“No,” Jesse mumbled. Her vision was fading. She tried to fumble for the phone in her purse, but the stocky man beside her easily pulled both her bags out of her reach. He patted her shoulder consolingly as he worked the takeaway bag open. Jesse’s head drooped, and before her eyes slid shut she saw him pulling out an egg roll.

“Relax, Jesse,” he said. Jesse heard him take a crunchy bite and swallow. “Just relax.”


	7. "I Put A Spell On You"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two men supported her stumbling trek out of the room and along the hallway. Her vision was blurred and unfocused, but a low familiar voice coming from the other direction snapped her to painful attention. She strained to make out the tall figure approaching, her eyes nearly closed in a tight squint. When her vision crystallized, she made out a face she knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for this chapter is "I Put A Spell On You" by Screamin' Jay Hawkins on _At Home with Screamin’ Jay_. The plot thickens! I'd love to hear what you think~

Jesse came to with a sore back and a chill. She groaned and lifted her hand to her pounding head, but she couldn’t move her hand past her hip. She cracked open her eyes. The lights in the ceiling were too bright; she snapped her eyes shut.

What was she doing here? Where was she?

The memory of the night before sent a shiver down her. She’d been kidnapped straight from the restaurant. Who had done it? Why? Jesse pulled her wrists against the hard, cold bonds, but she was securely restrained.

“Finally awake, are you?”

Jesse's eyes popped open. She still hadn’t adjusted to the light, but she could make out the shape of the same stocky man from the restaurant hovering over her. Jesse kicked her legs, desperate, but they’d been strapped down too.

The man left and shortly returned with another thinner man. Jesse wriggled against her bonds. Her vision was still recovering.

The stocky man held down her right arm. He was far stronger than Jesse, at least in her current state. What had they done to her?

A needle pricked her inner elbow. Jesse cried out and tried to struggle; while the rest of her body writhed, her arm was held solidly still.

Within a minute, Jesse began to feel more groggy. She fought against it, but her vision worsened yet again. Her body felt even limper that before.

The two men undid the bonds holding her down, but she was too groggy to move, to fight, even to speak. Tears leaked out of her eyes as she felt herself touched, moved, by their ungentle hands.

The two men supported her stumbling trek out of the room and along the hallway. Her vision was blurred and unfocused, but a low familiar voice coming from the other direction snapped her to painful attention. She strained to make out the tall figure approaching, her eyes nearly closed in a tight squint. When her vision crystallized, she made out a face she knew.

Mike.

_Mike_.

Jesse tried to struggle against her captors, but she only managed to lose her footing. The hands on her arms dug painfully into her skin as they held her up. Mike passed by, barely sparing a glance for her, but in the moment their eyes met she saw suppressed terror in his face. She opened her mouth to call his name, and then she stopped. Her captors urged her along, and she submitted, mind reeling.

_“…if you see me before…”_

Her head spun even as she was directed into a room and seated on a padded exam chair. Mike had warned her. He—he knew? She’d never told him about the break-in, but now…

A strap was pulled tight over her wrist. Jesse snapped back to reality. Her other hand was in an iron grip, and she tried to yank away. Tears burned her eyes. She writhed in her seat, kicked, tried to shout—her voice came out broken and hoarse, but her foot still connected solidly with the stocky man’s shin. He grunted, but kept hold on her hand long enough to secure it in. Then he kicked her back, hard, just under the knee.

Jesse’s mouth fell open in shock. A tiny keen came from the back of her throat; her whole body tensed in an effort to ease the pain.

“Don’t kick,” the man said sternly. He knelt by her legs and quickly strapped them down, then he and the other one left. The door shut behind them with finality.

The room was silent save for her own ragged breathing. Jesse tried to relax, but all she could do was shudder.

 

* * *

 

Jesse jerked awake as another needle pierced her arm. She yelled hoarsely, jerked in her seat, tried to buck away. Each movement sent a fresh wave of pain through her arm as the needle shifted inside her, but she grit her teeth and kept trying. Her captor—the same stocky man as before—pulled back with a scoff, taking the needle with him. Jesse’s blood raced. She shook hair away from her face and bared her teeth at Stocky, tense and somehow more angry than frightened.

“Don’t touch me,” she rasped. “Get the hell away.”

Stocky snorted. “Right,” he said. “Because you’re giving the orders here.”

A woman’s voice echoed from the hallway.

“Doctor’s coming,” Stocky said, sounding satisfied. He smiled smugly down at her with his arms crossed.

Jesse just glared at him until the door finally opened.

The doctor—well, she had on a lab vest, which was more than the others—came in. She was blond, blue-eyed, and somewhere in the realm of middle-aged. She paused in front of Jesse to look her over. Jesse furrowed her brow, suddenly confused. The doctor looked familiar. Where had she seen her before?

The doctor froze as Jesse frowned up at her. She drew a little closer, then stepped back with a swear and put a hand over her face.

“Who put her on the list?” the doctor demanded.

“ _I_ don’t know,” Stocky said.

Jesse blinked. _Oh._ She opened her mouth, then clenched it shut. The doctor was at the Stark benefit. She’d been next to Mike…

That stupid benefit! She never should have gone.

“She’s not suitable,” the doctor said.

“Well, she’s here now,” Stocky argued. “What, are we just going to toss her? That’d be a huge waste. After all that work—”

“Shut up. Come with me,” the doctor interrupted. She grabbed Stocky by the elbow and steered him out of the room.

As soon as the door shut, Jesse began to laugh. Honestly! She had no idea what was going on, and she _still_ wasn’t good enough. What, was the fact that she might recognize one of her captors such a big deal? She hiccoughed, manic laughter still bubbling out of her.

So Mike’s company wasn’t whatever Stark Industries thought it was. She didn’t know its name, or what it was supposed to be doing. She didn’t even know where his office—where _she_ was. Or what time it was, or what she was doing there, or what they’d just put in her body…

And what did they mean by a list?

Jesse sucked in a breath, all her black humor gone in an instant. If she was on a list, that meant there had to be others on it too. What the hell was going on? Were there other people being kidnapped, strapped in chairs? She twisted her hands in their bindings with increasing urgency. The skin on her wrists stung as she tried to break free.

She could have kept struggling, rubbed her wrist raw down to the bone in a futile effort to get out, get _out_.

But she was stuck, and hurting herself now would only make it harder to do anything later.

She was stuck.

And so was everyone else.

 

* * *

 

Jesse didn’t know how much time she’d lost. She could have been unconscious for days before she first awoke here, though she privately doubted it. Why would they waste so much time?

No, it was the stray hours that made her afraid. The paneled steel walls in the tiny room were blank, without windows or a clock. Even if there had been, she still wouldn’t have known how long she’d been out. She could barely remember stumbling out of the Chinese restaurant. It could have been days already.

Now that she was awake, the only way she could guess how much time was passing was to sing songs to herself and estimate. Not that she knew if the tempo was right, or if she was remembering the songs’ lengths correctly, or if she was just wasting her time. If she was dying soon, did it matter what time she went? Morning, evening, or night didn’t make much of a difference.

If she was going to die, she prayed they’d bury her fast.

Jesse shivered.

She hadn’t thought about dying very much. She had, on occasion, thought about being dead, and the freedom that it must bring, but the dying part had somehow escaped her. Her grandparents had all died from health issues: Alzheimer’s, heart problems, a stroke.

Had any of them ever been strapped down in a bare room?

Well, maybe. MRI machines were no fun. But at least those were for a reason, for a good cause, for your health. Not for your distress. Jesse squeezed shut her eyes and tried to sing a song, any song, anything to distract her from the dark spiral spilling out of her.

The door opened.

Jesse’s eyes flew open. The blond woman, the one that Stocky had referred to as the doctor, came in, a tablet under her arm as she pulled on a pair of disposable gloves. She barely spared a glance for Jesse as she walked around the chair to fiddle with something out of Jesse’s line of sight.

“Who _are_ you?” Jesse asked, more incredulous than frightened. She tried to twist in her chair to look behind her, but she could only see the edge of the doctor’s back.

A machine whirred to life somewhere over Jesse’s head. She blanched as a strange suspended helmet descended around her face. The cushioned bands were too big to fit her head snugly, but they were close enough to prevent her ducking away.

“What is that?” she demanded, but still the doctor ignored her.

Jesse tugged at her bonds, but they held as before. There was no way out of here. She was stuck, and she was at the mercy of whatever this… this _doctor_ had in store.

Tinny music echoed through the room, and Jesse screwed up her face in confusion as the doctor came around the chair to face her. The music was on the tablet, so why did it have such poor sound quality?

“Really? You couldn’t get a better recording?”

The doctor pursed her lips at Jesse’s sarcasm and raised the volume. “I’m a doctor. You need to listen to me. Tell me your name.”

“What? You know my n—”

The machine around her head buzzed, sending jolts through her skull. Jesse’s vision went white; every limb spasmed. A shrill scream burst out of her, the sound scraping in her throat nothing next to the echoing agony. She’d never felt anything like it. She’d thought Stocky’s kick was bad, but that had been child’s play.

The pain hadn’t faded, her vision hadn’t been restored, but the doctor started up again.

“I’m a doctor. You need to listen to me. Tell me your name.”

Jesse could hardly hear her. “Wha—”

The same pain pulsed through her, sending her into another wave of convulsions. Still the tinny music pierced her ears, pierced her scream. She went limp in the chair, sporadic twitching overcoming her.

“Tell me your na—

“Jesse! Jesse Kaplan!” she cried. Every breath—and they came fast, terrified as she was—sent a fresh pulse of pain through her.

“Good girl,” the doctor said, her voice smug. “Just twice. A fast learner. _Smart_.”

Jesse’s vision dimmed back slowly. The music stopped. The doctor was tapping on a tablet. She wasn’t even looking Jesse’s way. Taking notes? Jesse could barely think. Her skull hurt. Her eyes hurt. Her eyelids slid closed and her head fell back. Brightness still permeated her vision.

What was this? Why was she here? Who would do this?

_Mike…_

Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. They left wet tracks down her cheeks, down her neck. She couldn’t think past her current pain. She couldn’t think at all.

The doctor’s tapping stopped.

Then the music started up again.

Jesse tensed and her eyes flew open. _Oh god no_ —

“I’m a doctor. You need to listen to me. Tell me your mother’s first name.”

“Susan,” Jesse said quickly.

The doctor hummed in approval. The music kept going. “Tell me your father’s first name.”

“Joshua.”

“Tell me where your parents are.”

“Haifa.”

The doctor paused.

“In Israel? Tell me why.”

“They live there.”

“Ah, very good. Very good.” The doctor tapped on her tablet, and the machine over Jesse’s head began to whir.

“No!” Jesse cried. Blood raced through her veins. She pulled desperately at her bonds, trying to get out of range. “I said what you wanted!”

“You’re not here for census data,” the doctor said. Amusement dripped nastily in her voice. She knelt by Jesse, putting her face very close. Her breath blew against Jesse’s cheek, chilling against the tracks of her tears. “You’re here for something else.”

The doctor stood and pressed a button on her tablet.

Jesse screamed.


	8. "Nightmare"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barnes pushed the door open and barreled inside, nearly sending Jesse toppling to the floor. He shut the door behind him and double-locked it. He gripped her shoulders—she blinked at him—and looked her over.
> 
> “Where have you been?” he demanded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for this chapter is “Nightmare” by Artie Shaw from _Ultimate Big Band Collection: Artie Shaw_.
> 
> I'm finally getting around to posting so AO3 will be caught up with Tumblr. Starting Friday, I'll have a regular posting schedule of Mondays & Fridays. :-)
> 
> There’s something different about this chapter—bonus points if you figure it out! Tell me what you think!

Jesse woke up. She was in her own bed. Early morning light filtered through the drawn blinds. She blinked.

Hunger pains clawed at her stomach. Jesse doubled over with a groan. She stumbled to the bathroom, rinsed her face, and brushed her chalky teeth. Only then did she pull open the fridge. She wrinkled her nose. The fridge smelled rotten, but the cheese smelled okay. She bit right into it and collapsed at the kitchen table.

The apartment was silent. Jesse’s head lolled as she chewed. The clock over the stove read 10:32. The microwave read 10:31.

The harsh sound of the door buzzer rang through the apartment once, then twice. Jesse dropped the cheese on the table and stood up. Her vision blurred. She paused.

The buzzer rang again, this time long and furious and unrelenting.

Jesse hobbled to the receiver by her front door and spoke into it.

“Hello.”

“Let me in.”

It was Bucky Barnes. His voice was low and insistent.

Jesse pushed the button to let him in. She glanced down. Her gray dress was wrinkled. She turned to change.

The knock at her door came before she reached her bedroom. Jesse went back to the front door and opened it a crack. “Hello?”

Barnes pushed the door open and barreled inside, nearly sending Jesse toppling to the floor. He shut the door behind him and double-locked it. He gripped her shoulders—she blinked at him—and looked her over.

“Where have you been?” he demanded.

“Wh—at the hospital!” she sputtered. She wriggled out from his grip and scowled. “What the hell, Barnes?”

Barnes frowned and stepped back, dropping her shoulders. “What happened to your leg?”

Jesse looked down. Under her knee, only half-concealed by her leggings, was a greenish bruise, garish against her pale skin. “Someone kicked me. It was an accident.”

“That doesn’t look like an accident,” he said. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face. “Jess…”

“What?” she asked.

“Did you apologize for that?” He nodded down at her bruise.

“No,” she said. Her brows drew together. “What are you doing here?”

Barnes frowned. “You missed our meeting. And you didn’t answer my texts.”

“Our—” Jesse scratched her head. She glanced at the calendar, but nothing was written down for today. “I just woke up. My schedule’s all messed up. Sorry.”

“You didn’t even put it on your calendar,” he said accusingly.

“I was _sick_ ,” she said. “Are you seriously policing my calendar when I was just in the hospital?” He pursed his lips. Jesse sighed. “I’m still not feeling great. I’m sorry I missed the meeting.”

Even though she’d apologized, Barnes’ face went blank. “I shouldn’t have come,” he said.

“It wasn’t necessary,” Jesse said. “But I appreciate it!”

His eyes roved over her face. “Do you?”

Jesse gave a little smile. “Yes. I don’t usually get home visits.”

He smiled back, tiny and hesitant and gentle and—

“I need to get back to bed,” she said. Her body moved to the door, ushering him out. “Thanks for checking up on me.”

Before he could even respond, she’d shut the door. She double-locked it again, then slid down to the floor with her hand pressed against the smooth dark wood. A tinny recording echoed through her apartment. Jesse went back to her bedroom to answer her phone.

“Hello.”

The tinny music kept playing.

“I’m a doctor. You need to listen to me. Do whatever you need to do to make that man leave you alone.”

 

* * *

 

Jesse took a nap, showered, and went through her fridge. She poured the sour milk down the sink and put the crushed carton in the recycle; the moldy blueberries went straight in the trash, plastic and all. The freezer was fine. She took out a few slices of bread and made herself a PB&J.

She chewed, swallowed, drank water.

After a few hours, she made her way into Fran’s room. The succulents were still alive. She checked Fran’s email and watered them as instructed. She talked to her parents on Skype as long as she normally did. She ignored the string of frantic messages from Adrian.

The rest of the day passed in silence.

 

* * *

 

People at work were relieved to see her. As soon as Jesse walked in, Robin came over to ask after her health. Zach welcomed her back with a genuine smile. People Jesse rarely interacted with stopped by her desk throughout the day with questions, questions, questions.

“I was in the hospital. I caught a bad virus,” she repeated. “I’m mostly better. Apparently not contagious.”

They usually backed away after that line.

Apart from the string of interruptions, Jesse worked diligently. The pile that had built up by her desk during her absence was half gone by the end of the day.

Jesse took the subway home. She made herself dinner, checked on the succulents, and went to lie down.

When the tinny call came, she was ready.

 

* * *

 

Tuesday was much the same as Monday, though Jesse’s colleagues had mostly gotten out their prying questions. Jesse continued working on her pile of overdue tasks. She took lunch early to avoid a crowd. The break room was empty. She set her phone next to her sandwich. The little television mounted on the wall was playing the news as usual.

> [ A new tangle emerges in an ongoing local
> 
> [   story.   the recent slew of home break-ins
> 
> [ have now begun matching up with the mi

Jesse changed the channel.

 

* * *

 

Fran came home that night, exhausted and chipper. Jesse listened to him talk as she reheated leftovers for him. No aurorae, but plenty of fjords. He thanked her for keeping his succulents alive.

“They’re hardy,” she responded. “They survived me.”

 

* * *

 

On Wednesday, Robin called Jesse into her office.

“How are you doing, Jesse?” Robin asked.

“Alright,” Jesse said. “Still a little more tired than I’d like, but it’s getting better.”

Robin nodded with a sympathetic wince. “You seem to be doing well. I just wanted to tell you how much I appreciate you getting so much done so fast. With Marilyn out of the office, it’s a real relief to have you back!”

Jesse blinked. “Thank you,” she said seriously. “Focusing is helping a lot.”

“Great,” Robin said. “That’s all.” She waved Jesse off with a cheery smile.

Jesse went back to her desk.

She worked.

 

* * *

 

When Jesse turned the corner to her apartment, she paused. A tall man was sitting on the steps up to her apartment. She couldn’t see his face, but his dark hair was tucked behind his ears and he wore a jacket and gloves although it was almost summer. Jesse hesitated. That might be Barnes.

She turned to go back, but he must have noticed her.

“Jesse,” Barnes called.

Jesse turned back. He’d stood up. He was not smiling.

“Oh, hello.” Jesse walked towards him. She breathed evenly; her pleasant expression was fixed on her face. “What brings you here?”

“Just checking up on you,” he said.

“You could have texted.”

“I could have,” he agreed. He stuck his hands in his pockets and regarded her from two steps up. “Sorry for Sunday.”

“Thanks,” she said automatically. “Though I’m not sure this is any different.”

A hint of a smile touched his lips, but it did not hold. “I talked to Marilyn. She wants us to have those lessons ready as soon as we can. Do you have time for that now?”

Jesse chewed the inside of her lip. “I guess.” She walked past him up the stairs and unlocked her door. “After you.”

He hummed and went inside, though he waited for her to go up the stairs ahead of him. She climbed slowly, buying time; he matched pace behind her. She unlocked her door and went in. He shut the door and locked it behind him.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Fine,” she said. “You?”

“Alright. Can I have some water?” Barnes asked.

“Sure.” She gestured towards the couch. “You can sit, if you like.” Jesse turned to get a glass, and then a deafening knock echoed through her head.

Everything went black.


	9. "St. James Infirmary (Gambler's Blues)"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The couch dipped to her left. Jesse froze at the feel of Bucky’s prosthetic hand on the base of her neck.
> 
> “Are you… _you_?” he asked quietly.
> 
> She dropped her hands from her eyes; a chill settled over her. It wasn’t from his hand.
> 
> “What do you mean?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for this chapter is “St. James Infirmary (Gambler’s Blues)” by Louis Armstrong from _Satchmo Plays King Oliver_.

When Jesse came to, she felt momentarily refreshed. She was on the couch, and Bucky sat beside her with a hand on her forehead. She blinked at him, and he grabbed her hands in one of his, his expression severe. Then the pain settled in.

“Owww,” she groaned. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to cradle her head in her hands, but they were still caught in Bucky’s hold. “What happened?”

“You fell,” he stated. “How do you feel?”

“Ugh, I don’t know…” Jesse bent double, her forehead pressed against her wrists. The pain was intense, yet she felt strangely numb beneath the surface. What was going on?

Why was Bucky here?

Her head hurt to much for her to look up, but she furrowed her brow all the same. His grip on her hands was tight. She tried to pull back so she could cover her eyes, but Bucky didn’t let go. Was he holding her hands for her sake, or for his?

Jesse sat up slow enough to feel every vertebrae shift back into its proper, upright place. Bucky’s face was impossible to read. His expression was far from straightforward concern.

“Bucky…”

Bucky’s brows pinched and his lips parted. It felt like a long time since she’d seen him; he seemed different. Less friendly? Jesse studied him intently, but the close inspection put him off, and he drew back. Jesse almost cried at the hardness in his eyes, but she swallowed down her inexplicable grief.

“What’s going on?” she finally asked.

“You fell,” he said again.

“I heard you the first time,” she snapped, and instantly regretted it. She took a steadying breath. “I mean… what are you _doing_ here?”

Bucky sighed and finally let her hands go. Jesse rubbed her temples, trying to massage away the lingering throbbing in her skull.

“I’m just checking on you,” he said. “Sorry to bother you.” He stood up abruptly, but Jesse grabbed his sleeve before he could walk past her.

“Wait, what? You’re not bothering me,” she said. “I’m just—I’m really confused right now, okay? I—I don’t know what’s going on.” Jesse let go and looked away, throat tight. She let out a strangled laugh and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. “I feel like I have a hangover, except I don’t know what hangovers are actually like.”

The couch dipped to her left. Jesse froze at the feel of Bucky’s prosthetic hand on the base of her neck.

“Are you… _you_?” he asked quietly.

She dropped her hands from her eyes; a chill settled over her. It wasn’t from his hand.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…” He pulled back, shook his head. “I thought you weren’t yourself.”

“I have no idea what’s going on, but I feel like mys—”

A tinny recording rang through the apartment. Jesse frowned, trying to place it. She knew that music… Her eyes slid shut and she began to shudder, the recording triggering her into stillness. Worse, the pounding in her head came back full force.

Bucky slid his hands over her ears, startling her and muting the music. His eyes fixed on hers, tracking her.

“Is that bothering you?” he asked, loud enough for her to hear. She nodded, breathless, and covered his hands with her own to block everything out, but he pulled away as soon as she did.

He pulled a gun out from under his jacket, and Jesse almost fell over.

“What the—! You don’t need to—”

But Bucky left for her bedroom. She tried not to listen to her phone being destroyed—he didn’t actually shoot the gun, at least—but every crack made her wince.

“There goes six hundred bucks,” she muttered, hands still firmly over her ears.

“I’ll cover it,” he said, returning. He plucked one of her hands free and tossed her broken phone on the coffee table. A few pieces of glass bounced onto the floor. Jesse winced and bent to gather them.

“Jesse,” Bucky said. She glanced up at him, a sliver of glass between her fingers. He stood on the other side of the coffee table, arms crossed over his chest. “What the hell happened to you?”

Jesse sighed. The music had been bad, but she had no idea why. “God, I don’t know.”

“You’re telling me you don’t remember anything at all?” he demanded, exasperated.

“What is there to remember?” she shot back. Arguing was less terrifying than not knowing.

“Something took you over,” he growled. “And you’re telling me you don’t remember a single thing?”

Jesse’s mouth hung open in shock. Taken over? What was he on about? Strains of that tinny music still echoed in her head. She tried to pull it to the surface. As she moved her mouth silently along with the melody, memories flashed in her mind.

Blooming pain in her knee.

_“I’m a doctor. You need to—”_

A middle-aged blond woman in a doctor’s vest, holding a tablet.

Tinny music falling flat in a steely room.

Mike.

The doctor.

White blindness, extraordinary pain—

Mike’s face—

_“You’re here for something else.”_

Jesse cried out, then slapped a hand over her mouth, silencing herself. Tears leaked from her eyes. Bucky drew in a sharp breath and leaned across the coffee table, holding her gaze.

“You remember,” he said.

“I…”

Jesse couldn’t form a sentence, not with the avalanche of lost time clamoring for attention in her brain. She couldn’t even look Bucky in the eye. But she nodded and tried to breathe slow and even to calm herself. It didn’t quite work, but after another silent minute she felt, maybe, able to speak.

“What happened?” Bucky pressed. He knelt across the table from her, leaning his elbows on the coffee table. His gaze was intense.

_“Do whatever you need to do to make that man leave you alone.”_

Jesse surged to her feet, tearing her eyes away from Bucky to look wildly around the room.

“They’re listening!” she gasped.

Bucky stood up. “I took care of that,” he said. His tone was soothing, but Jesse’s blood pressure still hit the roof.

“Then why’d they call?” she demanded.

“They started calling after I destroyed their listening devices.” Bucky’s mouth twisted unpleasantly. “After you fell. That was the fourth call.”

“So…” Jesse sat back down. She thought of that morning where she’d half-drowned in her own damn toilet and shuddered. “So they’re going to come looking for me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty fucking sure.” She ran a hand through her loose hair. “Do you remember when I told you I wasn’t sleeping well?” Bucky nodded, eyes focused on hers. “I didn’t realize—I didn’t _want_ to realize, but they broke in here. They broke in here, and if they think I’m… compromised or whatever, they’ll do it again just to protect themselves.”

“You think?” Bucky perched on the arm of the couch next to her, hands splayed on his thighs. He didn’t look at her; he stared at the half-open door to Fran’s room.

“Even if they don’t know I’m myself again, I’m a liability,” Jesse said. She stared into the matte blackness of his prosthetic hand. If they knew that _he_ knew her, that _he_ visited her, they could never be certain she’d be theirs. “Of course they’re coming.” She shook her head, looked away. “I’m so sorry.”

Bucky swiveled his head to frown down at her. “What the hell are you sorry for?”

“Wha—for getting you caught up in all this,” she said, baffled.

“How is this your fault?” he countered. “Did you ask for any of this?”

“No, of course not.”

“Well then.” Bucky stood up in a flash and set his jaw. “If they’re coming, we need to leave. Pack a bag.”

Jesse scrambled to her feet. She faltered with a hand on her still pounding hand, but when Bucky put a hand on her arm she shook him off. “I’m fine,” she insisted. She made her way to her room clutching the wall.

She blinked in shock. Her bedroom was painfully neat. The bed was fully made, even, and nothing was out of place. Jesse inched inside, disturbed. She kept her room _clean_ , sure, but… hospital corners? On a Wednesday? _Really?_

Jesse grabbed a backpack from the closet and stuffed a few changes of clothes along with her birth control pills in next to the notebook already inside. Instinct had her grabbing for her phone charger, but no. She didn’t need that anymore. Jesse looked around her bedroom, for what she wasn’t sure.

Then the doorbell buzzed.

Jesse froze. From the other room, she heard Bucky sigh.

“Always a fight,” he muttered.

Jesse’s heart dropped. She’d let him down. She’d let him down so badly she wanted to weep. She’d wanted to be safe for him, normal, a comfort. All that hope was ashes now.

But she didn’t have time to indulge in silent grieving. She hurried out towards the door buzzer as it rang again. “Should I—”

“No,” Bucky snapped. He shook his head sharply. “Don’t. Go hide. In there. Go!”

Jesse ran into the bathroom, turning back once to look at Bucky. He was stationed next to the door by its hinges, lying in wait for when it inevitably burst open. His jaw ticked as he stood there, gun in hand. He glanced over and pressed his lips together in frustration. _Go_ , he mouthed.

Jesse hid.

She locked the bathroom door and crouched between the toilet and the tub, heart racing. Had they come yet? Beyond the rush of her blood in her ears, she could barely hear a thing. She tried to steady her breathing, her hands, her heart. God, what if it had just been Fran, stuck without a key? Were they freaking out for nothing?

Someone grunted—oh god, they were inside! Jesse clapped her hands over her mouth, trembling. Her eyes stung as the sound of punches and more grunts filtered into the bathroom. What was going on out there?

A harsh electrical buzz echoed through the apartment, and Jesse heard the sound of breaking glass and a metal screech. Metal? Was that Bucky? She surged to her feet and stared around for something, anything she could use. A razor? No, hers were all safety and Fran’s were all electric. The plunger was gross, but it had a good-length handle. And Fran’s aftershave was in a glass bottle. She grabbed them both, but she knocked over the toilet bowl cleaner. It clattered against the porcelain toilet.

Jesse sucked in a horrified breath. The fight outside had quieted, but was that before or after she’d fucked up?

The doorknob jiggled. Jesse clambered into the tub behind the closed curtain. Her breath came fast, faster than after dancing ten songs in a row. Could they hear her heart pounding outside the door? She would’ve believed it.

The knob jiggled again, and this time the door swung open. Jesse clutched her makeshift weapons tightly. She was right next to the shower knob…

The curtain yanked open. Jesse yelped in shock and tried to throw the aftershave, but the stocky man before her knocked it aside. Jesse’s heart stopped as she recognized him— _he_ was the one who’d taken her! He’d kicked her! He’d strapped her down—

The glass bottle shattered over the bathroom floor; the scent spread through the room like poison. Stocky grinned triumphantly.

Jesse thrust the plunger in his face.

Stocky yelled unintelligibly and backed away. Jesse kept pace with him from in the tub until he backed into a wall. She pushed the plunger forward with all her might. Stocky’s head banged against the wall with a satisfying thump, but he didn’t collapse. He grunted. His muscles bulged as he kicked out right at her.

His foot connected with her pelvis. Jesse groaned and fell to her knees. By the time she lifted her head, Stocky was already swinging a fist at her face, plunger discarded. The force of his strike sent her careening to the left, and her temple banged hard against the faucet. White light blinded her and she curled up instinctively, but Stocky didn’t come after her again.

When she next looked up, vision blurred and fogging, Stocky was flying out of the bathroom. Bucky stood in front of the tub, his jacket singed and his left glove discarded. Sparks danced along his clenched metal fist. Jesse’s lips parted as she stared. Had Stocky brought a shocker like the one she’d been tortured with?

Bucky stalked back out and the sounds of fighting recommenced. Jesse tried to push herself up, but the hammering in her head was too much. She collapsed against the side of the tub. There was a wetness on the side of her face, dripping down along her jawline. She reached up and looked at her wet fingertip. Blood? Jesse quickly pressed the palm of her hand against the most painful part of her face and gasped from the sting, but the pressure lent her some relief against the searing pain spreading through her head. She peered out to the bathroom floor to look for the shards of glass—so much broken glass in her apartment, and the sound of yet more glass breaking made her wince—and then she remembered she was still wearing her shoes.

Jesse climbed out of the tub and grabbed the discarded plunger. The top half of the glass bottle was relatively intact with its metal topper; Jesse picked up the metal top and inched towards the open door.

A totally different man hurtled past the open door and collapsed against the next wall, groaning. Jesse’s eyes widened. She waited another moment, then she peeked quickly out. Bucky had Stocky in a chokehold by the burst-open front door, and though Stocky was burlier, he was no match for a supersoldier. Within a minute, Stocky was unconscious on the floor.

Bucky was left standing over him, nostrils flared, eyes wide and fierce. His dark hair hung loose around his face. Jesse’s lips parted at the sight of him. He looked so different than any time before; she’d seen him disapproving, reluctant, even amused—never fierce. Yet for all his ferocity, he was still himself. Still the same strong jaw, the same cheekbones, the same cleft in his chin… the same face, same body.

A few lingering sparks jumped between his metal fingers. Jesse opened her mouth to ask if he was okay, but a noise came from behind. She tossed the broken glass bottle back into the bathroom and took the plunger handle in both hands as she turned; the strange man had leaned forward, and the wooden handle connected solidly with his skull. He collapsed back against the wall, this time truly unconscious.

Jesse breathed heavily as she stared down at him. She’d never seen this one before. His thin ashen face was in sharp focus; everything else was a blur. Her grip on the plunger loosened, and as her breathing slowed she felt the blood running down her neck.

“Shi’,” she muttered. She dropped the plunger so she could stop the flow of blood, but the moment she did a wave of dizziness overtook her. Jesse stumbled and put her free hand against the wall. Ringing echoed in her ears. “Wha… whaddya say?”

If anyone answered, she couldn’t hear it.

She took two shaky breaths, then Bucky—she couldn’t see him, but she assumed it was Bucky—slipped under her outstretched arm and led her back to the couch. She could barely make out faint sparkles on the kitchen floor. Shards of glass? The coffee table was on its side, one leg broken off.

Jesse’s legs buckled when she tried to sit down, and she landed heavily. Her head pounded in time with her heart. Eventually she realized that Bucky was talking. She turned her head carefully and focused on his mouth.

“—you okay?”

“Mm.” Jesse jerked her chin once in a facsimile nod.

“You’re bleeding,” Bucky said flatly. “Are you okay to walk?”

“N—no.” That much she was sure of. She flicked her eyes up to meet his; his blue eyes were steely, the pupils blown wide with adrenaline. “Not tha’ okay.”

“We need to leave,” Bucky said. “It’s not safe here.”

His words rang in her ears. Jesse shook her head with a groan. “You— _you_ go. Call p’lice. Get ’way. They get taken. I go t’emergency room. Or they go after _you_.”

“You can’t just wait here for the police,” Bucky told her. He went and retrieved her backpack from the bedroom. The zipping noise was like an avalanche. “What if someone else comes along?”

At that Jesse sat up. If only she could explain herself, but her brain was like jello. She clenched her teeth and tried to focus. “They don’t know if I’m fixed,” she said slowly. “You get away. Bad for you if police…” She gestured around. He must know what she meant. She moved on. “You c’n keep watch. But leave before 911 comes. I might be concussed, but I can still lie.”

Bucky was silent. Jesse tilted her head to look at his face. All she could tell from the blurry shape of him was that he was frowning.

“Where would they take you to?” he asked.

“Um. Brooklyn Methodist. By Foster Ave.” Jesse sighed and leaned back against the couch, eyes sliding shut against the light. “Call p’lice. Get out. Be safe.” She reached out blindly; Bucky took hold of her hand quickly. She could barely tell which hand it was, apart from the scratch of a fingernail on the back of her palm. She squeezed his hand, assured in the knowledge that he’d feel it. “Don’ worry. Jus’ be safe.”

Bucky held her hand a moment longer. She blinked her eyes open to look at him one last time; he was staring into space, his face beautiful despite her unfocused vision.

“It’ll be ’kay,” she murmured. “Will be.”

He set his jaw and dropped her hand. Jesse closed her eyes. She didn’t want to watch him go. When the door closed behind him, tears ran down her cheeks, down her neck. On the left side, the tears mingled with her blood.

 

* * *

 

Jesse woke when crisp evening air hit her face. She stirred on the stretcher; her head was still pounding, but her arms were secured down. It felt as though she’d been bandaged, at least. When she opened her eyes, she saw an EMT at her feet and one over her head. They carried her joltingly down the five stairs to street level and began to load her into an ambulance. As they lifted her stretcher to strap it in, she looked to her side. The stranger was on the cot next to her!

“No!” she cried. Tears pooled in her eyes. She struggled against her bonds until the EMT knelt by her. “No! He tried t’ hurt me!”

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” the EMT said. She gently patted Jesse’s shoulder, then called to her partner. “Get a policeman in here. Witness is up.”

Jesse stared at the man beside her with horror until a middle-aged policeman climbed up and stood between them.

“Hey now, take a deep breath,” the policeman said. He had a pen and notebook in hand. “What’s your name?”

Jesse hiccoughed as she tried to breathe deep. “Jesse. Jesse Kaplan. They—they broke in! They hurt me!”

“What happened?” The policeman finished writing her name and looked back at her.

“I hid in the shower,” she said. “When they came…” Jesse trailed off and began to cry. Her left hand twitched as she tried to reach up to her cut.

“She’s concussed, officer,” the EMT muttered. “I need to get her to the hospital. Another ambulance will have to come anyway. The two guys can go together.”

“Fine, fine,” the policeman said. “Make sure her room number is sent to the station if they’re keeping her.” He turned back to Jesse and rapped on the handle by her elbow. “Get well soon.”

He climbed out, and another EMT came back to take away the man beside Jesse. She sagged in relief, still sniveling. Sounds began to trickle in.

“—t’s going on?”

Jesse blanched. That was Fran! Oh god—did he just get home? She sat up as best she could in the stretcher. There he was, dark hair tousled and brown eyes wide in shock as a policeman spoke to him a few meters away. Jesse couldn’t make out what the policeman was saying, but Fran glanced around wildly. After a breathless moment, he made her out in the dark ambulance.

“Jesse?” Fran gasped.

Someone closed the ambulance door, cutting off Fran’s view. Jesse’s head fell back as the EMT at her side finished strapping her in.

“Good to go,” the EMT said. The siren went on, and Jesse curled up her fists and tried not to cry.

 

* * *

 

The hour and a half Jesse spent in the emergency room passed in a blur of invasive questions and lights in her eyes and a fresh bandage over her stitched-up cut. She hadn’t realized it, but a shard of glass had lodged its way into her calf as well. Tweezers were far less friendly when someone else was digging around. But she had a cot in a private stall now, a little removed from the major bustle. She could do little more than twiddle her thumbs; she had no phone, and the nurse had told her to just rest.

Jesse had tried, but rest was out of reach after all that had happened. She’d thought she’d had bad days before, but this… this one took the cake. She heaved a sigh and twisted her fingers together.

So. She’d been kidnapped, tortured, and brainwashed. Yes, that about summed it up. Did it though? No, not quite. She’d been kidnapped, tortured, brainwashed, _and_ she’d dragged Bucky into a huge mess that had nothing to do with him. Sure, it wasn’t technically her fault, but still. He would have been off, living a peaceful life or whatever, but no. Once again, the Winter Soldier was fighting battles not his own.

Jesse squeezed her eyes shut. Logically, she knew Bucky had made it out. He’d been a myth for decades until the truth came out those few years back. She _knew_ he was good at getting away scot free. But she couldn’t help the nagging worry taking hold in her chest. If she’d put him in danger, would she ever be able to forgive herself?

God willing, she’d never have to answer that question.

“Hi, Jesse.”

Jesse sat up quickly—too quickly. Her head began to pound again, and it took a minute for her vision to clear.

A pale woman with dark hair somewhere around Jesse’s age was perched on the edge of her bed in a blue dress and black leggings similar to her own, with a scarf around her neck and a large pair of red glasses on her face. Jesse stared; this woman was a stranger. Another stranger? Jesse gripped the bedrails and pushed herself back.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” the woman said. Her voice was low and quiet. Her large eyes were fixed on Jesse’s. “I’m here to get you out of here.”

“Who—who are you?” Jesse sputtered.

“I’m James’s friend.” The woman held out her phone and pulled off her glasses. Jesse squinted until the screen came into focus, and then her face screwed up in confusion. She glanced up, then back at the phone. The photo showed Bucky, just as he’d been as he’d left, standing next to this woman, except the woman in the picture had red straight hair, not black curly hair. Jesse blinked. Red hair? Friends with Bucky?

“Na…tasha?” Jesse tried.

Natasha Romanoff’s smile was a hard line on her pretty face. “Exactly.”

“Well,” Jesse said, her heart rate going back to its usual rhythm, “hi?”

Natasha chuckled. “Hey.” She pulled her bag up and placed it on the bed. A brick red backpack. _Jesse’s_ brick red backpack.

“That’s—”

“Yes,” Natasha interrupted. “Now be quiet.” She reached into the bag and pulled out what looked like a thick pen. Jesse began to ask what it was, but Natasha grabbed her shoulder with an iron grip and jabbed the tool into the base of her neck. It felt like the prick of a dozen needles at once.

“What the hell!” Jesse hissed.

Natasha ignored her. She stuffed whatever it was back into Jesse’s bag and pulled out some… plastic wrap?

A coolness began to spread through Jesse’s veins. When it reached her head, she gasped from the relief. Her vision cleared, and for the first time Jesse saw Natasha clearly.

“Whoa.” Jesse blinked and stared around. The lights weren’t too bright anymore, and the throbbing in her head had dulled to little more than an annoyance. “What _was_ that?”

“Stimulant,” Natasha told her. “Now keep still.” She reached at Jesse’s face with the plastic wrap—but it was too sturdy for just that, and holographic hexagons shimmered in it. Natasha pressed it to Jesse’s face. Jesse held still, shocked, until a little beep came from Natasha’s phone. Natasha pulled the material away and pressed it to her own face. Jesse watched, fascinated, and then Natasha’s face morphed into her own, bandage and all. Jesse nearly jumped off the bed.

“What the hell?” she whispered again, but Natasha was already pushing her scarf and glasses at Jesse.

“Put these on and leave. He’s waiting at the visitor’s entrance.”

“Wha—why are you doing this?” Jesse asked, the accessories sitting on her lap.

Natasha smiled grimly. “To see what happens,” she said. “Now get out of here. And if they ask, your name is Susan, and you’re here to visit—”

“I get it, I get it,” Jesse said quickly. She wrapped the scarf around her neck, adjusting it to hide the bloodstain on her shoulder, and put on the big red glasses. She stood hesitantly, testing her legs, but they were right as rain. Natasha shifted to Jesse’s abandoned spot and lay there looking quite innocent.

“Don’t forget your bag,” Natasha said. She nodded at the red backpack.

Jesse picked it up slowly, her eyes wide. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Think about it and tell me later,” Natasha said. “Now scram.”

 

* * *

 

Jesse fled through the hospital, afraid of everyone she passed, terrified of footsteps behind her. Thankfully the visitor’s entrance wasn’t far, and she stepped outside with no small amount of relief. A light rain was falling, and Jesse shuddered as she stepped out into it.

A motorcycle was parked right across from the entrance. Though the driver’s face was obscured by a tinted helmet, Jesse recognized the singed jacket and combat boots at once. She hurried across the street, glancing around nervously.

When Bucky held out another helmet to her, she ignored his outstretched arm and hugged him around the shoulders. His helmet was in the way. He patted her on the back awkwardly, and Jesse pulled away after one deep breath.

“You’re okay?” she asked.

He nodded and stood, still straddling the bike, to pull the spare helmet over her head. He fastened it tightly and sat back down. “Get on.”

Jesse climbed on behind him, grateful she was wearing leggings. Bucky started the bike up. Jesse swallowed and reached around him to link her hands around his waist.

“Hold on tight,” he told her. He revved the engine, and like a shot they were off.

As their speed increased, Jesse tightened her grip until her chest was pressed against Bucky’s back and her head was turned sideways. If she hadn’t been wearing a helmet, she might have felt his heartbeat through her cheek. The wind whipped at her scarf, and the air and rain sliced cold across her bare arms. Jesse clasped her wrists hard as she shivered. Between the scarf and the helmet, she could hear very little of the noise of the city. When she shut her eyes, it was almost like meditating.

She didn’t know how long they were on the road. At some point, she knew they got on the highway, but within the silent bulk of the helmet, she was finally able to close her eyes and clear her mind of all the hellish thoughts of the last hours. Or try to, at least.

By the time Bucky pulled into an underground garage, Jesse was rested enough to perk up and take note of her surroundings. The other vehicles looked fancy—a BMW, a Tesla plugged into the wall. Bucky parked next to a sparkling SUV and heaved a sigh.

Jesse unclasped her wrists. Her limbs were stiff from the rain and wind, but she managed to climb off the bike on her own. She unbuckled the helmet with fumbling fingers as Bucky hopped off. He took both helmets and led the way, stone-faced, to an elevator. He passed a keycard over a scanner and typed in a code. A green light flashed, and in a minute the doors opened. Bucky ushered Jesse in first. She pulled off the giant glasses and unwound the wet scarf from around her neck.

It was like their first elevator ride together in that way. He’d let her go first then, too. But this time, they were both silent. No banter, no laughter. Bucky only looked at her once, though he forced a tiny smile. Jesse returned it. She wanted to speak, but she had no idea what to say, nor even if it was safe to speak where they were. He’d certainly kept his mouth shut.

When the elevator came to a stop, Bucky checked the hallway before leading the way ahead to the door at the end of the hall. Jesse leaned against the wall and kept watch behind them as he went through the strictest door security regimen she’d ever seen. No one appeared, and Bucky pulled her inside. An automatic light turned on further past them.

“You’re safe here,” Bucky said.

Jesse glanced around. It was an apartment, that much was obvious. “Where are we?” she asked.

“My place,” he said. He dropped the spare helmet by the door and began to pull his own back on. “I’m going out. I’ll be back.”

“Wait—Bucky,” Jesse protested. He paused, and she floundered for words. He frowned as she stared up at him. She scrambled for something, anything to say. “I—thank you.”

His face softened. He didn’t quite smile, but he did squeeze her arm. “I’ll be back,” he promised. He slipped out the door.

The locks clicked shut, and Jesse was left alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot going on in this chapter!!! No more brainwashing, but now there's a whole new set of problems... I was so happy to give Stocky some comeuppance with a plunger after the toilet debacle in chapter 5, not to mention everything else!
> 
> Thanks for reading :D What did you think?


	10. "You Better Go Now"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lock on the door clicked open. Jesse’s heart pounded. She tightened her grip on the hilt of the knife and held her breath as the door opened and closed. Whoever had come in, they were quiet. Bucky was quiet, but so were other people of his profession. What if it was someone on the other end of the alignment spectrum?
> 
> Jesse backed away from the kitchenette entryway slowly. She prayed they didn’t have a gun, because now she was just boxing herself in.
> 
> “Hello?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for this chapter is "You Better Go Now" by Billie Holiday on _Billie Holiday's Greatest Hits_.

Bucky was gone.

Jesse stood awkwardly in the narrow entrance of his apartment, her backpack hanging from her elbow and her blue dress uncomfortably damp. She took a deep breath and turned to take stock of her surroundings. The place was less starkly furnished than she’d expected—a large charcoal drawing of the Brooklyn Bridge hung on the wall right beside her, and when she edged into the common space, she could see a large print of a painting of fruit over the couch. The couch itself was low and all straight lines, the kind of thing someone who hated comfort would buy. There weren’t even any throw rugs to counteract the hard wooden floors.

Any view was blocked by insulated curtains. Jesse had been too distracted to know exactly where he’d taken her, and she’d kept her eyes mostly shut against the rain. She knew she was still in Brooklyn, but the exact neighborhood evaded her. Cobble Hill, Brooklyn Heights? Somewhere fancier than her block in Flatbush, that was for sure. This place had actual air conditioning.

She dropped her bag against the couch and turned in place until she spotted two closed doors by the kitchenette. Nothing indicated which was the bathroom door, so she guessed. The first door she opened was a bedroom—Jesse quickly closed it, cheeks warm, before she got more than a vague sense of _bed_ and _dressers_.

The bathroom itself was all white, even the hand towels. The mat by the tub was the only carpeting in the entire apartment. Jesse took a deep breath, then looked at herself in the mirror. All things considered, she didn’t look so bad. There was no bruise, just a square bandage taped over the edge of her eyebrow to hide the stitches. Her face was pale, but a few pinches returned the color to her cheeks. Her hair looked the worst. After the horror show back at her apartment plus the hospital and that helmet, her braid was more out than in. She rebraided her hair, trying to tuck away all the stray wisps around her temples. She mostly succeeded. Her dress had a bloodstain on the shoulder under her cut, but she couldn’t do anything about that.

Jesse wandered back to the living room and perched on the couch, which was more comfortable than it looked. She twisted her fingers together. After a minute, she toed off her shoes and scooted back onto the couch, feet tucked under her.

Where had Bucky gone? He’d given no explanation, just left without so much as a goodbye. Jesse had no way to contact him, let alone anyone else. Would she make it to work tomorrow? Would she be able to call in? After everything else, was she going to lose her job, too?

Jesse winced. With everything going on, was her job really the most important thing? She hadn’t even processed the worst of what had happened. Everything had happened too fast, too quickly…

Well, now was the perfect time to get parsing. Bucky was gone, she wasn’t tired, and she could freak out in peace. Jesse pulled a notebook and pen from her backpack and started writing.

> Mike’s company 
> 
> Blond doctor & Mike—Stark event
> 
> Company name???
> 
> Mike—how did he know he’d see me? If he knew, WHY WAS HE SCARED?
> 
> Song, trigger words
> 
> Shocks/electricity
> 
> Needles

Jesse bit her lip. The words… what words had the doctor used?

“I am a doctor,” she tried. The words were strange in her mouth; there were too many of them. “I’m a doctor.”

That sounded better. Not better, exactly. Jesse felt a sudden chill. But it felt right, and the rest of it followed from there.

> “I’m a doctor. You need to listen to me. [Command, not question.]”

Jesse stared at what she’d written. Was there anything else worth mentioning? What else could she remember?

She screwed up her face, thinking hard. The early days were easier to remember, the first most of all. She remembered the blond doctor first coming in, and the horrible machine she had used. But that was later. The doctor had been unpleasantly surprised to see Jesse…

A list! She’d mentioned a list.

> List, what list?

The doctor had asked who’d put Jesse on the list. That meant—

“Oh no,” Jesse murmured.

That meant there was a list of _people_ , a list of people who were going through what Jesse had suffered. And maybe more, maybe new people! If the list was being added to, who was to say they weren’t taking some other civilian right now?

Jesse began to shiver; the air conditioning was a relief no longer. With the one painting behind her and all the windows shut, Bucky’s place was in some ways as stark as the blank metal room she’d been kept. Too cold to be really comfortable, and so bare that there wasn’t even a clock on a wall.

Was she even safe here? Bucky must have thought so, but he didn’t even know anything about the people who’d abducted her. She knew next to nothing, and he’d had no chance to even pick her brain. The elaborate escape from the hospital seemed stupid now, stupid and such an obvious ploy that she couldn’t sincerely believe that the others hadn’t seen right through it. What stopped them from following Bucky though Brooklyn? What was stopping them from just barging in and recapturing her? Or killing her outright?

Why had Bucky even gone to the trouble of including yet _another_ person? He could have left her there, but he didn’t. He could have taken her to the police, but he didn’t. He’d brought her here.

Jesse didn’t know what to think. She hugged her knees to her chest, her notebook abandoned on the otherwise bare coffee table. A white throw pillow blended into the couch; she tugged it over and gingerly put her head down.

She had to trust Bucky. She had no choice. He’d left her here, alone and unarmed, and now all she could do was wait and think in discomfort. The bandage on her face was beginning to itch, but it was too soon to take it off. The AC was cool for her damp summery outfit, but she wasn’t going into the bedroom. She rubbed her arms until they were pink and raw and a little warmer.

All she could do was wait.

 

* * *

 

Jesse woke up from fitful napping two hours later. Bucky hadn’t come back yet. She’d tried sleeping, but she’d woken up gasping every time she heard a stray noise. But nothing out of the ordinary ever happened, so she was left about as tired as before and even more skittish. The stimulant hadn’t cleared out; she was hyper aware of every possible threat. At one point, she’d written a very flat narrative of her experience—the break-in, Mike’s warning, the abduction, the torture—and then lay back down, shivering.

He couldn’t be gone for much longer. He hadn’t even told her she could help herself to food, or a towel. How could he abandon her for so long? What was he doing?

Her stomach began to grumble. Jesse gave up on the couch and wandered into the kitchenette. A few jars were pushed against the back wall by the stove, but upon inspection they were just coffee and sugar. She tried the fridge, but she didn’t even know where to get a glass for milk. Somehow the fridge was less dangerous than the cabinets. As far as she knew, people didn’t store weapons in the fridge. But cabinets…

She wouldn’t put it past him. They were easy access for something small. But she had no interest in seeing a handgun up close.

As she debated whether or not to start looking, the front door began to rattle.

Jesse froze.

Barely breathing, she slowly put down her notebook. She stood and hurried into the kitchen, which was out of sight from the front door. Her heart beat low and quick; her hands shook as she turned in place in the kitchen, looking for something, anything, to protect herself with. Where did he keep his kitchen knives? Jesse yanked open the drawer closest to the sink. Regular silverware on the left and—ha! She pulled out a butcher’s knife, pushed the drawer shut, and held the knife at her hip.

For the first time in her life, she wished she knew how to use a gun.

The lock on the door clicked open. Jesse’s heart pounded. She tightened her grip on the hilt of the knife and held her breath as the door opened and closed. Whoever had come in, they were quiet. Bucky was quiet, but so were other people of his profession. What if it was someone on the other end of the alignment spectrum?

Jesse backed away from the kitchenette entryway slowly. She prayed they didn’t have a gun, because now she was just boxing herself in.

“Hello?”

Jesse almost dropped the knife at the familiar voice, but she managed to shove it onto the counter. “Bucky,” she said, voice hoarse. She cleared her throat and tried to relax. “I’m in the kitchen.”

Bucky stepped into view and paused at the sight of her huddled at the far wall. His gaze jumped from her to the knife on the counter, and he winced.

“You okay?”

She snorted. His bashful expression gave her the oomph she needed to emerge from her corner. “I’m alive,” she said. “By some miracle.”

Bucky pressed his lips together and grabbed a glass from one of the cabinets. Jesse watched him as he filled it with cold water from the fridge dispenser.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

“Yes. Very.” Jesse pressed a hand against her stomach. Her dress was still a little damp; less so on the side she hadn’t laid on.

“Shit. I’m sorry.” He pulled a loaf of bread from the freezer, then paused. “What do you eat?”

“Right now? Pretty much anything that’s not pork or seafood.”

“Right.” Bucky slapped together a turkey sandwich and slid the plate in Jesse’s direction. She picked it up in both hands and bit into it with a satisfied hum.

“Thank you,” she said, one hand over her mouth. “It’s delicious.”

“It’s just turkey,” he said. “It’s not—”

“It’s delicious,” Jesse insisted. She took another bite, and another. The sandwich was entirely gone in another six bites. Jesse took a few deep breaths and rubbed her neck. “Dang. I was starving.” She glanced around, but the clock on the oven wasn’t set. “What time is it?”

“Just past midnight.” Bucky shifted his weight awkwardly, then spun on his heel and went to sit on the couch. Jesse followed him out of the kitchen hesitantly. His head was bowed forward, with his hands buried in his hair.

Jesse winced. She went and sat cross-legged a few feet away from him. She reached out to pat his shoulder, but she let her hand fall before it reached him. She had no idea how to comfort him.

After a minute, Bucky let out a shuddering breath and sat up. “Sorry,” he said again.

“I know some shit’s gone down,” Jesse began, “but I don’t think any of this is _your_ fault, either.”

A little smile flickered on Bucky’s face, and he glanced at her. His eyes were wide, shinier than usual. “I should have noticed,” he said. “I should have noticed right away. You weren’t…” He shook his head, sharply. “Of all people, I should have noticed,” he repeated.

Jesse bit her lip. What could she say to that?

“It’s not your fault,” she tried again.

“Sure.” Bucky sighed and shook his head. He leaned back against the couch and propped his legs up on the coffee table with a sigh. “I was looking forward to something normal. For a change.”

Jesse snorted, though her eyes stung. “God, that would have been nice.” She didn’t bother apologizing; she knew what he’d say. _It’s not on you, it’s not your fault_. Apparently they were both terrible at ceding blame.

She sat cross-legged on Bucky’s couch, shoulders hunched and eyes downcast. Normal. That _would_ have been nice. Right now, nothing was normal. She didn’t have her phone, she had no idea what the deal was with work, and her apartment was trashed. What would Fran think? He’d no doubt heard about what had happened from the police, but what was it like for him, to walk in there and see his space violated like that? Would Adrian think she had died, or just that Jesse suddenly hated her? Jesse rubbed her arms and winced. She took deliberate slow breaths; now wasn’t the time to cry. Now was the time to think.

“I made some notes,” Jesse said.

“What?” Bucky swiveled his head to peer down at her. “What do you mean, notes?”

She grabbed the notebook from the coffee table and offered it to him. “Notes about… what I could remember.”

His lips parted as he looked at her more closely than he had since before the fight at her apartment. “You don’t take a break, do you?”

“I do,” Jesse said defensively. “I did! But this is important. This might help. I—well, it might help.”

Bucky finally took the notebook. Jesse glanced down at her notes, suddenly worried. There really wasn’t much there, was there? She’d left out so much… If Bucky had spent the last three hours doing any sleuthing, he probably knew far more than the bits she’d bothered writing down. If.

But she had no idea what he’d been doing. Maybe he had no interest in solving this at all. Maybe he’d just gone and gotten something to eat, or gone to a bar, or gone to the gym.

Jesse pressed her hands together between her legs and tried not to consider the possibility that Bucky had left to get away from her. At the very least, he _was_ reading her notes.

“The Stark benefit?” Bucky asked. “What does that have to do with anything? And Mike—that tall dancer? He’s involved in all this?” He twisted his mouth.

“Mike and one of the doctors who… worked on me were at the Stark benefit.” Jesse shifted uncomfortably, then forged on. “If we could find out who they say they are, we—someone might be able to find them. I never knew where I was, but they must be attached to some company. Mike said his company was getting a nod, so—”

“Right.” Bucky pulled out his phone and typed out a quick text, then tapped another item on Jesse’s list. _Shocks/electricity_. “They had an electroshock weapon at the apartment. Was there something else?”

Jesse hesitated, ashamed. The details. She’d hoped not to have to be there when Bucky—or Natasha, or whoever—read her little narrative. But if Bucky wanted to know…

“Next page,” she croaked. She cleared her throat and tried again. “The next page. I wrote what happened. Or at least—what I could remember.”

Bucky looked at her again. His tight, focused frown faded. One of his hands twitched in her direction. “You didn’t need to, Jesse,” he said at last.

“It might help.” Jesse balled her fists on her knees and stared at the veins on the back of her hands, the insides of her wrists. “Of course I needed to.”

“Help who?” he pressed.

“I’m not the only one,” she said. She swallowed, licked her dry lips. “There are others. Are, were, will be. I don’t know. But someone put me on a list, and if there’s a list—”

“I get it.” Bucky sucked in a breath between his teeth. “Yeah. I get it.”

Of all people, he probably _did_ get it. That’s what made it all so much worse. How would reading her tragic tale make him feel? Certainly not any better. _She_ wanted nothing to do with it. She’d written it out, true, but the thought of having to look at it again made her gut churn. And answer questions—

When Bucky turned the page of the notebook and she caught a glimpse of her handwriting looping in full sentences, Jesse’s breath caught. She surged to her feet. “Excuse me,” she blurted, then rushed into the bathroom and slammed the door.

She gripped the sink and gasped for air; tears stung her eyes and her heartbeat echoed in her ears. The faucet sparkled from the bright lights overhead. She stared at her distorted reflection in the silver arch as she heaved breaths. With her face stretched out of shape, she could barely make out her eyes or her mouth. She didn’t dare look in the actual mirror. The whole world was shuddering; how could she be anything but a mess? Why would she want to see that?

A rap at the door made her jump.

“Jesse, are you okay?” Bucky asked.

Jesse clapped a hand to her mouth; her throat burned with contained sobs. She swallowed them back, eyes still stinging.

“I’m fine,” she answered, her voice more hoarse than she’d hoped for. She coughed and turned on the faucet. “Just got something caught in my throat.”

“Jess…”

Jesse paused, her hand cupped under the running water. She hadn’t been called Jess since she was a child. The shortening of her name had always felt like a dismissal, but Bucky just sounded worried.

She sipped out of her palm. The cold water was soothing down her throat, and she could answer more clearly.

“Don’t worry about it, Bucky. I’ll be out soon.” She pressed her wet hand against her hot face, eyes closed to avoid her reflection.

Bucky said nothing more; Jesse assumed he’d gone back to the couch. Hopefully he’d read her story and finish before she did. She took another sip of water and sat on the edge of the toilet.

Somewhere in the midst of all this trauma, she’d started calling Bucky Barnes by name. She couldn’t remember the first time she’d done so, but now his name slipped as easily off her tongue as her vague assurances. Maybe she was getting inured to him. She mouthed his name, the _b_ on her lips and the _k_ at her throat. She _was_ getting used to it. Used to him, even.

How long had it been since they’d danced?

Jesse squeezed her eyes shut. _Not now._ This wasn’t the time for self-pity. She needed to steel herself against whatever was coming. She set her jaw, took slow deep breaths, and rubbed cold water on her pink-rimmed eyes.

By the time she left the bathroom, she felt prepared. Whatever questions Bucky had, she could take them. Pressing for details? Pitying looks? No problem.

Yet he did neither. He just glanced back at her from the couch and said, “What are you thinking?”

“About what?”

He studied her and seemed to change his mind. “Next steps. I got the name of the company from Pepper. They’re called Current Relief Incorporated.” He winced. “They do electrotherapy.”

“Wha—seriously? _Current Relief?_ ” Jesse shook her head, aghast, and leaned against the wall. “Why are evil people so obsessed with puns?”

Bucky snorted. “Never figured that one out myself. But I got that guy’s information. And the woman.”

Jesse’s heart beat fast as Bucky put a big black laptop on the back of the couch facing her. There were two headshots side by side, with name, address, email, and phone number below each. On the right was Mike; on the left was the blond doctor. Jesse gripped the edge of the couch to keep her hands from shaking when she leaned forward to read about the woman who’d tortured her. Her name was Medea Faulk, she lived in Manhattan, and her email was a company one in the same format as Mike’s. Jesse looked away, back to Mike’s photo. He wasn’t smiling.

“He warned me,” Jesse said. She jabbed a finger towards Mike’s headshot. “He knew I’d see him sooner than I thought.”

Bucky frowned. “You mean you knew something was going to happen?”

“No, no. It was all very roundabout. I didn’t get it until I saw him there. He was just walking by. He looked…” Jesse thought back. “He looked terrified.”

Bucky scoffed, but Jesse ignored it. Mike had been scared. Why was he scared? Why had he warned her?

“I want to talk to Mike,” she said.

“What?! No way,” Bucky snapped. “You’re supposed to be in the hospital right now. He’s involved in whatever bullshit they’re doing. You are _not_ going to talk to him.”

Jesse narrowed her eyes.

 _We’ll see_.

 

* * *

 

“Hello, Mike.”

Mike froze on the last step out of his apartment building. Very slowly, he turned towards her.

Jesse took a loud gurgling sip of the end of her iced mocha and lowered the plastic cup to her side. She looked nothing like herself. Her hair was bundled away into one of Bucky’s brimmed caps, and his jacket hung off her. She’d had to roll up the cuffs to free her hands. The sunglasses were big on her small face, too. Hell, she’d even put on some black lipstick. The strange outfit made her feel like a different person, one who could plausibly intimidate a six-foot-five man who’d been involved in her kidnap and torture. The fact that the jacket had a lingering scent of its owner probably helped.

“Shit,” Mike gasped. His face was so pale Jesse was almost afraid he’d pass out.

She glanced across the street to where Bucky’s motorcycle idled. Bucky, also in a large hat and sunglasses, was leaning against it, ostensibly on his phone, but Jesse knew his eyes were glued to her and Mike. She also knew he had a gun in his pocket.

Mike hurried over to where Jesse leaned against a telephone pole and grabbed her arm; she tensed. “What are you doing here?” he hissed.

“What do you think?” Jesse tried not to let her terror leak out in her voice. She lifted her chin to an improbable angle. Did she look stupid or confident? She couldn’t tell. “Tell me what the hell you people did to me.”

Mike stared down at her. His brown eyes were wide, his lips white. He moved them in silent shock.

“Tell me,” Jesse insisted. She put her free hand on his arm and dug her nails into his skin. “You’ve lost the right to remain silent.”

“How did you find me?” he asked.

“Please,” Jesse scoffed. “You think you’re any better protected than I was?”

Mike deflated. He uncurled his hand from her arm and glanced around. His gaze lingered on the motorcycle across the street. Did he know who was there, watching?

“Come with me and I’ll talk,” he said.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m not telling you anything here. We’re going inside.” Mike hooked his arm around her shoulders and steered her up the steps back into his building.

Jesse glanced back. Bucky was standing up straight, his mouth in a thin line and a hand in his pocket. She forced a smile.

_It’ll be okay, Bucky. I promise._

The door to the street closed behind her; short of busting it open, Bucky was stuck outside, waiting. Mike directed her through another door, even further away from her one tether to safety.

_It’ll be okay._

_I hope._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) The first time Jesse says Bucky's name aloud is right after she wakes up in the previous chapter, when she's finally free from control.
> 
> b) I am very pleased with the company name pun. I love puns. Puns are good and they get a BAD RAP
> 
> c) The trope of an idea being vehemently shut down and then the story/show/movie cuts straight to that happening is one of my favorite things and I am very glad I could include it here XD
> 
> d) The charcoal drawing of the Brooklyn Bridge is a Steve Rogers original :3
> 
> Hopefully this starts to answer some of your burning questions! Let me know what you think :3


	11. "You Don't Own Me"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky had opened his mouth to retort, but her final sentence ended into a silence. Jesse raised her eyebrows; Bucky put a hand over his mouth. His blue eyes danced.
> 
> “You won’t _let_ me?” he said, laughter bubbling in his voice.
> 
> Jesse flushed and sank back down onto the couch. “I mean…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for this chapter is "You Don't Own Me" by Brenna Whitaker on _Brenna Whitaker_.

Mike led Jesse up a back stairway with his arm still tight around her shoulders. He was over a foot taller than her; of course he could go three steps at a time. And he gave her no quarter to choose her own pace. It was either keep up or be dragged. Her calved burned before they hit the second floor.

From what Jesse had seen, she knew Mike lived on the third floor. But he kept going up three more, then past the last actual story to the roof exit. Why was he taking her so high up? He blocked her into a dim corner. Only then did he step back.

Jesse whipped her sunglasses off and glared up at him. “We’re inside. So talk.”

Mike glanced around, but they were well and truly alone, save the cobwebs overhead. “Look, Jesse…” He worried his bottom lip and crossed his arms tight over his chest. “Jesse, I am so sorry for what happened to you. I wish—”

“Yes, me too,” Jesse interrupted. Mike winced; she continued unrepentantly. “I sure do wish. But that’s not the point. What the hell is going on, Mike?”

“It’s a conspiracy,” Mike stated. “I don’t know what they want. I just work there.”

Jesse’s jaw dropped. “You just… _work there_?”

He winced. “You didn’t betray me before,” he said. “You saved my life.”

“You helped ruin mine,” she retorted.

“I tried to warn you!” he hissed. “You wouldn’t give him up!”

“What?” Jesse blinked, startled. “Are you talking about…” She trailed off, but Mike knew exactly what she’d meant.

“Of course I am!” Mike ran a hand through his hair, leaving it wild. “What did you think this was about?” He glanced at his watch and swore. “I have to go,” he said. “I have… work.”

“Hell no.” Jesse grabbed his wrist. “You owe me something.”

“And I suppose not ratting you out right now—” he pulled out his phone and held it well above her head— “isn’t gonna cut it.”

“Information,” Jesse blurted, wide eyes fixed on his phone. “I want information.”

“What information?”

Jesse paused. Considered. Then she clenched her teeth and gave a harsh grin. “I want all of it.”

 

—

 

Mike left first; Jesse waited an agonizing minute before running down the stairs after him. She burst outside, panting, and knocked straight into someone just outside.

“Sorry,” she muttered, but the man just grabbed her shoulders and pushed her back. Jesse blinked up at—Bucky.

“You’re okay,” he breathed. All the tension in her shoulders melted away.

“I told you I would be,” she said. A smile flickered on her face; from this close, she could see the shadow of his eyes behind the sunglasses. Could he see hers? Could he see how glad she was to see him?

“Let’s get out of here.” Bucky put a hand on her back and guided her across the street to his bike.

Jesse swapped Bucky’s cap for a helmet and climbed on behind him. The ride back to his place was quick—it turned out he only lived a few miles from Mike—and Jesse barely had a chance to relax before they were back in the garage and heading up to Bucky’s apartment.

As soon as they made it inside, Jesse made a beeline for the couch and collapsed into a heap. “God,” she muttered.

“What?” Bucky leaned on his hands against the back of the couch. He hovered over her.

Jesse tilted her head back to look up at him. “I’ve never done anything like that before.”

“Shocking.”

“I meant _mean_.”

Bucky’s face contorted; from her low vantage point, she couldn’t quite figure out whether he was scowling or just screwing up his face. She sighed and closed her eyes.

“I could tell he was sorry. But I didn’t accept his apology.”

“Good,” Bucky said, voice full of disdain. “What did you find out?”

She hesitated, cracked one eye open. “I don’t think you’ll like it.”

“Just spit it out,” Bucky ordered. Jesse took a bracing deep breath.

“He’s got the midnight shift, and he’ll let us into their server room.”

Bucky opened his mouth, closed it. Frowned. After a beat, his frown deepened; he fixed steely eyes on hers. “ _Us_?”

Of course that was the first part he’d settle on.

“Yeah,” Jesse sighed. She opened her other eye. Bucky’s expression was beyond a frown at this point. “I guess I’m his insurance. He said he’d tell them I was out and that you were there if I didn’t go with you. I guess… he assumed you’d be going.”

“What the hell did you say to him?” Bucky said through clenched teeth. His left arm made a faint scraping noise as he squeezed his hands into fists against the couch.

“I told him I wanted information, just like I said I would!” Jesse sat up on her knees so her head was close to even with his. He didn’t look at her. His lips were set in a thin white line; his hair fell forward, blocking her view of his eyes. “I’ll go alone if you don’t want to, but—”

“Like hell you will,” he spat. He whipped his face in her direction; his eyes were narrowed and his teeth bared. Jesse nearly recoiled. “You’re not going. Period.”

“Then you can’t either,” she told him, jaw set. “ _I_ don’t want to go. But my god, I can’t just sit back and do nothing! And I’m not going to let you walk in there to an ambush.”

Bucky had opened his mouth to retort, but her final sentence ended into a silence. Jesse raised her eyebrows; Bucky put a hand over his mouth. His blue eyes danced.

“You won’t _let_ me?” he said, laughter bubbling in his voice.

Jesse flushed and sank back down onto the couch. “I mean…”

Bucky’s low chuckle, muffled against his hand, was infectious. Jesse giggled, not taking her eyes from his face. His eyes were crinkled with amusement, and when he glanced at her they both set off on a fresh wave of sniggering.

It was laughable. As the Winter Soldier, Bucky had been programmed for just the type of operation Mike had suggested. Infiltration! Stealing! Criminal organizations! This was exactly his ballpark. The notion of her, a random-ass civilian, _making_ him do something was absolutely hilarious.

“But seriously,” Bucky said, all the lightness seeping out of his face, “you’re not going.” He stood straight and looked down at her. It might have been intimidating if she wasn’t so damn fond of him. She was in no way qualified to infiltrate a presumably secure building, but dammit, if her presence could save Bucky some trouble, of _course_ she was going.

“Mike said he’d rat you out if you went on your own. Do you seriously think I would be okay staying away with so much at stake?”

“That’s only if you trust this guy. I don’t.” Bucky started to pace the length of the couch, fists opening and closing at his sides. “Whether or not the ass keeps his word, he’s not going to be the only person there. Jesse, you’re not going.”

“Mike said he can loop the security cameras,” Jesse told him.

“That’s…” Bucky ran his open hands against his skull. He paused and spun to face her. Jesse had expected aggravation, dismissal, straight-up refusal. She hadn’t expected naked anguish on his face. “I’ve been to the places where I was made— _unmade_. You don’t want to go there. Trust me.”

Jesse’s breath caught. She instinctively clutched at her neck with one hand. When he put it like that, with that look on his face… If he couldn’t handle it, how could she? He’d been through so much. He’d survived so much. She’d only survived because of him. Her fingernails made little indents against her collarbone.

But Bucky _had_ made it. He’d handled going back into hell—he’d survived, and come out strong enough to talk to a stranger at a fancy benefit at a Midtown hotel, strong enough to go to a strange dance hall and smile at her when she grinned. Jesse didn’t know what Bucky’d had to go back to his roots for, but this foray back to Current Relief wasn’t about her. It was about everyone else. It was about keeping everyone else safe from torture, safe from break-ins and open toilets and nonconsensual shots. Sure, once all of it was over she’d probably have a spectacular case of PTSD, but in the meantime she could do as much as possible to make sure it never happened again.

And of course, whether or not Bucky thought so, she knew that going with him would be better than the alternative. Bucky was right to distrust Mike—hadn’t he known that she’d go through hell?—but what benefit could be gained from lying to her in the stairwell of his building? If Mike ratted them out, he’d be implicating himself too.

Bucky could try to shut her out of this, but he’d never succeed.

A sudden smile grew on her face. “You have to let me go,” Jesse proclaimed. “I won’t tell you anything unless you let me go with you.”

“You are an absolute little shit,” Bucky said. Despite it all, his expression softened from anguish to a sort of aggravated fondness. He vaulted over the back of the couch and in the space of one shocked inhale, he had his arms boxing her in on the couch. His face loomed less than a foot from hers. “You think I couldn’t get it out of you?”

Jesse blinked. His mouth was all soft smirk— _too soft, my god, how soft would they be if I_ —but his blue eyes were serious. “You, ah, could, probably,” she stammered. “But do you really want torturing me for information on your conscience?”

Bucky pulled back with a frown. Jesse leaned forward for the briefest moment, following him, then slumped back. Heat washed through her. She swallowed it away.

“You’re not joking,” he said flatly.

“Bucky…” She pressed her hands together between her knees and stared up at him earnestly. “I can help. Let me help. I can’t just sit here and wait. I did that. It sucked.”

He stared right back at her, jaw moving in little frustrated circles. “Can you follow directions?”

“Yes.” Her lips twitched. “I got pretty good at that, you know.”

Bucky shook his head and flopped down beside her, arms crossed. “How the hell do you have a sense of humor right now?”

Jesse considered this. In the past fourteen hours, she’d been knocked out, she’d gotten a concussion and a gash on her head, she’d confronted one of the people who’d conspired to kidnap and torture her, _and_ she’d had to deal with a visit to the emergency room. Meanwhile, here she was, making jokes. But wasn’t that always the way of things, when there were people around? She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d cried in front of her own parents.

“If I wasn’t being sarcastic,” Jesse said, “I’d be in a puddle on the floor. And that’s just not something you need to see. Trust me, this is much better.”

Bucky huffed. “If you were in a puddle on the floor, you wouldn’t be arguing.”

“I’d rather have the moral high ground than the… melodramatic low ground,” Jesse said. “Puddle on the floor, you know.” Bucky raised his eyebrows, uncomprehending. “The floor… low ground?” He shook his head; Jesse sighed. “Okay, fine, that was terrible. But come on, I had to try.”

“Desperation’s not a good look,” he stated.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t be so desperate to tell me what to do.”

“What am I supposed to say, Jesse? ‘Sure, come on! It’ll be fun?’” Sarcasm dripped heavily off his tongue. “Hell no.”

Jesse crossed her arms and dug her fingernails into her side. “Why is it okay for you to risk things and not me? Am I supposed to just sit back while other people are getting hurt? What the hell would that say about me?”

“It’d say that you were smart enough to listen to people who know better!” Bucky sprang to his feet and began that sharp pacing again. His shoulders were hunched with tension.

Jesse tipped her head back against the couch and stared up at the ceiling, nails still pinching into her skin through Bucky’s jacket. She’d thought they were getting somewhere close to a consensus, but now Bucky was back to wearing a hole in the floor.

“You didn’t see the weapon they had,” he continued. “It’d put you down in a flash.”

The memory of sitting in that chair, skull burning with white-hot pain, burst out of Jesse’s subconscious. She squeezed shut her eyes and thought hard about dance halls and music and smiling and a warm hand on her back. After a minute, the phantom agony eased away. “I’ve already dealt with that. Maybe not the exact thing, but something damn close. If it means I can help prevent it from happening to anyone else—”

“What makes you so sure that’s what you’ll be doing?” Bucky stopped pacing.

Jesse sighed and turned to look him in the eye. “I know you don’t trust Mike. And logically I know you’re probably right. But he’s got nothing to gain from lying to us now. Not about this.”

“He lies to us, he lies to his people, they ambush us, we fail, you probably die, nothing changes, we can’t do a damn thing,” Bucky rattled off, ticking his fingers.

Jesse stood up and ran her hands through her loose hair down to the base of her neck. “I can’t just sit back,” she said yet again. “Bucky, I can _help_. For god’s sake, just let me help you.” She stared at him, eyes wide and fingers tangled around the back of her neck. Bucky’s jaw twitched. He opened his mouth, closed it. Heaved a sigh. Jesse’s face pinched as he worked his jaw in frustrated circles.

“I know I’m not… like you,” Jesse said. “But you don’t own me. This is my choice. I want to help you. For fuck’s sake, let me.”

Bucky tugged at his hair, his face a contorted mess. “You already said you wouldn’t tell me a damn thing if I don’t,” he said finally. “And I don’t trust that you wouldn’t just try and follow me if I left you here.”

Jesse’s shoulders slumped with relief. “Damn straight.”

“Fine then.” Bucky took a deep breath. By the time the last of it whistled between his teeth, he was straight-faced and all business. “What’s the plan?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love one (1) drama queen and her name is Jesse Kaplan.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think :3


	12. “Assassinat - Take 3”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse edged out from behind Bucky. His face was stone cold; he stared at Mike with narrowed eyes and his gun half-raised. When Bucky glanced down at her, he stuffed the weapon away with an automatic ease that made her blink and look away. Tall blinking servers lined the narrow room. The terminal Mike sat at had the only chair and the only screen.
> 
> “Talk,” Bucky growled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for this chapter is “Assassinat - Take 3” by Miles Davis on _Ascenseur de l'échafaud_.

Current Relief Inc. was in Queens’ Long Island City. Mike had told Jesse about a back alley entrance, which she’d passed on to Bucky along with all the other details she’d gotten. Arrive at midnight-thirty, go up to the third floor, turn right and take the fourth door on the left.

Bucky parked the motorcycle a block and a half from the alley Mike had mentioned. For the first time, Jesse watched as Bucky shut the bike down and locked it. The security was far more sophisticated than a single key. It was just as involved as his apartment door.

Jesse couldn’t blame him for it. After the past two weeks, she wanted something as secure for herself. But she didn’t have those resources. She wouldn’t even know where to look. And it wasn’t as if she had anything to lock up. All that she had was at Bucky’s. She had no idea what had happened to the rest. She was still in a borrowed shirt and jacket, for heaven’s sake.

The street was chiefly commercial, though most businesses were closed. The only one with lights still on was a Chinese place, by some unkind coincidence. Jesse turned her head aside as they passed on their way to the back alley that abutted Current Relief.

The building itself was seven stories tall, with the look of newness along all its clean corners and blank walls. Compared to the rest of the alley, its walls were clean—minimal graffiti, no obvious splatters of bodily fluids or streaks of bird shit. Apparently they kept themselves clean. No one would have guessed that such fastidiousness had to do with anything more than an anal owner.

Bucky led the way down the narrow alley, his hand tucked under his jacket by his hidden holster. He glanced suspiciously up at the security cameras, but he didn’t stop. They had to trust Mike. Jesse knew Bucky wasn’t happy about it, but they hardly had another choice. Sure, he could storm in, guns blazing, but then all the data would no doubt be lost. Mad scientists were all about destruction, after all.

The emergency exit was a thick blank door. Jesse realized only a few feet away that it was propped open with a wooden shim. Bucky had to worm his fingers into the crack between door and frame in order to get it open. Jesse held her breath, but no alarm sounded. She let out her breath between her teeth and pressed a hand to her racing heart as she slipped in after Bucky.

The door closed with an ominous click behind them. Bucky pulled out a gun from a holster on his thigh. At his expectant look, Jesse pulled the pistol he’d forced her to take from its spot at her side. He’d drilled her on how to use the damn thing back at his place. The safety was still on, but the heavy feel of it in her hands still made her queasy.

A concrete staircase wound up; Bucky gave the door into the rest of the building a brief inspection, then began to climb. He went smooth and slow enough for Jesse to keep pace with him. She generally preferred running up stairs two at a time, but this was no time to be stomping.

At the third floor, Bucky paused by the door and motioned Jesse to keep quiet. She held her breath until he nodded and pushed open the door.

The second she stepped into the hall, Jesse’s heartbeat pounded loud and urgent. The lights were only half-on, but it was enough to make her catch her breath. This was the place—this was it. This was the hallway she’d seen Mike, where she’d been dragged by Stocky and the other one to horrible confinement. Bucky glanced at her with a frown. Could he hear her racing heart? She jerked her chin in a nod, and he led the way down the hall.

He moved smooth and silent, his black outfit and sideways stance lending him the air of a stalking panther. Jesse followed as close as she dared, ducking slightly as he did.

They made it past two doors, and then the ding of an elevator rang through the empty hallways. Jesse’s blood ran cold as she stared ahead, but Bucky grabbed her arm and pulled her back. He forced a door open and hauled her inside before pulling the door shut.

Jesse’s heartbeat echoed in her ears as her breath came quick and low. She couldn’t see. The room was warmer than the hallway, and Bucky was very close in front of her. She could just feel his shallow breathing across her face. Jesse reached out to the side and almost immediately touched a wall. She explored with her hand and felt long handles, which made her yank back. She didn’t want a repeat of the incident at her apartment. Handles, then. A closet?

Of all the times to be stuck in a closet with Bucky Barnes, it had to be now. _Great_. In better circumstances, she’d’ve been glad. Excited, even. They hadn’t been this close since they’d last danced, and that felt like eons ago. Right now, she was just aggravated, jittery. She checked the safety on her pistol, then stuffed it away. She was barely able to keep still; she didn’t trust herself with a weapon right now. Her hands twitched in the heavy silence until the sound of footsteps filtered in from the hall. Then she didn’t breathe at all.

Maybe that was just to be expected, now.

A minute passed, then Bucky blew out a breath. “Clear,” he murmured. He pushed the door open—it swung silently on its hinges, thank god—and led the way quicker two more doors down and pushed open the swinging door to the server room.

Jesse slipped in after him and held out a hand to still the doors behind her. Over Bucky’s shoulder, she saw Mike frozen in a swiveling chair at a terminal. His eyes were glued to Bucky. When he saw her, he sagged in relief.

“Thank god,” Mike breathed.

Jesse edged out from behind Bucky. His face was stone cold; he stared at Mike with narrowed eyes and his gun half-raised. When Bucky glanced down at her, he stuffed the weapon away with an automatic ease that made her blink and look away. Tall blinking servers lined the narrow room. The terminal Mike sat at had the only chair and the only screen.

“Talk,” Bucky growled.

Mike flinched and pushed the chair back. “Y-you brought something to download the data?” he asked, voice shaking.

Bucky pulled a device from his pocket and pressed it to the side of the console, out of sight of the door. He’d gotten it while Jesse was napping after lunch; it was Stark tech, perfect for stealing data. It didn’t even need a USB port. Jesse crept around Bucky to squint at the tiny screen. _0.03174%_. The numbers crawled up, and she glanced up at Mike as she stood. He jumped out of the chair and offered it to her.

“Thanks,” she said automatically.

Bucky shifted until he was between Jesse and Mike, who scrambled back almost the full length of the room. Jesse spun the chair to face the console. Mike had been working. She didn’t dare click on anything, but there were multiple windows open. The front one was a bunch of gifs—looping the cameras, maybe? She saw a spreadsheet, but the only columns she could see listed boroughs and zip codes. Brooklyn, Brooklyn, Queens.

“What is this?” she asked.

“Uh—”

Mike shuffled behind her. Jesse glanced over her shoulder. Mike was still pressed against the far wall. She couldn’t see Bucky’s face, but she could imagine it well enough.

“Talk,” Bucky said again.

Mike swallowed. “Looping cameras,” he croaked. “And… a spreadsheet. Of people.” He didn’t meet Jesse’s eyes. The hair on the back of her neck stood up.

“Is this the list? Is this the list someone put me on?” Jesse pressed. She jabbed her finger at the screen.

“I… I think so,” Mike whispered. He inched closer. “Yeah—yeah.”

Jesse turned back to face the screen as tears pricked at her eyes. She still didn’t click anything. Who had done it? Why? She still had no idea. But she didn’t dare ask. She didn’t want Bucky to hear the pain in her voice. He’d warned her, but she’d insisted on coming. Mike’s compliance was worth whatever desolation she was feeling.

But Bucky slid a hand onto her shoulder and squeezed it. She reached up and grabbed his hand; she’d brought it halfway to her mouth before she thought better of pressing it to her lips. Instead she just leaned her cheek against his hand, then dropped it. She blinked back tears.

“How _did_ you get out?” Mike asked quietly.

Jesse drew in a shaky breath. “I got lucky,” she muttered. “And I didn’t listen to you. How did _you_ get in?”

Bucky huffed. “As if that has anything—”

He stopped mid-sentence, eyes suddenly narrowed. He took a step towards the door, but seemed to think better of it. Instead, he came back and shoved her chair behind him just as the door opened.

Jesse peeked around Bucky’s side. There was a Latina woman in the doorway, maybe twenty-five, with a rumpled shirt and a gun in her hands.

“It—Liz,” Mike croaked.

“Don’t move,” Liz said. Her voice was flat, her eyes cloudy and unfocused. She slid her fevered gaze over Bucky, and Jesse seated behind him, then honed in on Mike, who stood frozen by the servers. Liz’s gun came up lightning-fast. “Traitor, time’s up.”

Without thinking, Jesse leapt out from behind Bucky’s arm, hopping aside to keep him from dragging her back.

“Liz, STOP,” she ordered.

Liz paused, taking in Jesse, her outfit. Jesse moved quickly between her and Mike, empty hands taut and still. Liz lowered her gun just enough for Jesse’s heart to start beating again. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Bucky inching towards Liz.

“You need to listen to me,” Jesse said. Her voice wavered; if Liz noticed Bucky, she’d shoot him. Liz’s eyes narrowed. Jesse forged ahead, trying to keep her voice even, commanding. “I’m a doctor. Listen to—You need to listen to me. Put the gun down.”

“I need to kill the traitor,” Liz stated.

“No, you need to put the gun down.” Jesse stepped closer, swallowing back the rising tide of terror building in her chest, and thrust out her hand. “I’m a doctor. You need to listen to me. Give me the gun.”

Liz stared at Jesse for another long moment. Jesse held her gaze. She willed her face to stay stern, her hand to keep still. She willed Bucky to wait, to hold… If he surprised Liz, she might shoot, and Jesse’s heart was already about to pop. She had no way to motion to him to stop, not without breaking her fake authority.

But Bucky held, and Liz deflated.

“Yes, doctor.” Liz held the gun out to Jesse, who took it gingerly by the barrel and stepped back. Liz was looking at her like a lost puppy, just standing with her arms limp by her sides.

“Don’t move,” Jesse told her. She tilted her head back at Mike. “How do you get her out of this?”

“Blunt force trauma to the head,” Bucky cut in. He stalked the final few steps to Liz and hit her with a clenched fist on the side of the head. Liz dropped like a stone.

“Shit!” Jesse almost dropped the gun. Bucky knelt to check Liz’s pulse. When Jesse stepped towards them, he shot her a quelling look. She held back. What did she know about any of this, anyway?

“Holy shit, Jesse,” Mike breathed. Jesse finally turned to him; Bucky could handle an unconscious woman on his own. Mike was ashen, his tall frame pressed against the wall as though he’d fall down without it. Jesse automatically gave him a one-armed hug. He put a tentative hand on her back.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured.

“Like hell you are,” Bucky snarled. He bounded to his feet; Jesse pulled away from Mike. “What the hell, Jess! This guy’s responsible for who knows how much bullshit, and you’re sorry he gets some comeuppance?”

“No one should be held at gunpoint!”

A beat of silence passed, and Jesse felt the irony of her words as Bucky’s face twisted unpleasantly. _She’d_ just been held at gunpoint. And Mike hadn’t apologized—not for that, anyway. Not yet. She was sure he would, once he had enough brain cells for it. She flushed and looked away. Bucky spun on Mike.

“You,” Bucky said to him. “Take this one—” he toed Liz’s leg— “and get the hell out of here. Go to the police.”

“What? No!” Mike stepped up next to Jesse. “I’m not leaving you here.”

“Yes you are,” Bucky said. He scooped Liz up in his arms and held her out to Mike. “You’re going to take her and _leave_.” His voice dropped dangerously, and Mike gripped Jesse’s elbow.

“Jesse…”

“Mike, just help her,” Jesse said. She offered him Liz’s gun. “You can get her out of here. Your cover’s blown anyway.”

Mike pressed his lips together with a frown as he took the pistol from her hand. “You should get out of here too. You should—”

“She’s not going with you,” Bucky snapped.

Jesse stared at him. The longer they were stuck here, waiting for that damn Stark tech to finish, the more likely it was that they’d be caught. It would only get worse. Didn’t Bucky want her out of his hair, away from the work he still had to do? After he’d had to move her, stand guard over her, slow down for her on the stairs—she couldn’t imagine that she was doing anything but slowing him down.

But she wasn’t going to argue, not with Bucky.

“Okay, okay.” She stepped away from Mike. “Be safe, Mike.”

Mike didn’t answer. He just took Liz from Bucky’s outstretched arms, shot Jesse a tight smile, and elbowed his way through the swinging door. Jesse let out a slow breath and turned to check Stark’s drive—almost done, thank god. A relieved smile spread on her face as she turned back to tell Bucky, but his harsh glower stopped her in her tracks.

He’d never looked so angry. Jesse’s face fell. She stepped back, afraid and confused. Why hadn’t he let her leave, if he was just going to be angry at her?

She swallowed. “I…”

“‘Be _safe_?’” Bucky took a threatening step towards her; Jesse had nowhere left to go. Her shoulders tensed. “What about you, huh? What about you?”

“What _about_ me?” Jesse’s free hand clenched into a fist against the console. “You’re not my boss.”

“I didn’t bring you here to get _killed!_ ” For a moment, the fury on his face slipped, and Jesse saw at once that he was afraid. For some reason, that just made her angry.

“Oh, fuck you,” she spat. The thunderstruck look on his face was almost enough to make her smile, make her laugh, but fury burned too bright in her chest for her to be distracted now. “You don’t get to shame me out of caring for people. You don’t get to tell me my priorities. And you sure as hell don’t get to lecture me about being safe when you’re cornering me like a fucking serial killer!”

Bucky stepped back, his face suddenly blank. Jesse unmolded herself from the console, her fury cooling at his sudden change.

“Fine,” he said. “Fine.” He turned to face the door, effectively ignoring her.

Jesse blinked at his back. She hadn’t expected him to give in so quickly, so easily. All she’d done was snap back at him. She deflated and sat down.

Jesse drummed her fingers on her knees and stared at the looped videos on the screen. After studying them for a few minutes, she could see the skips that signalled the start of the loop. She glanced at Bucky, but he still stood guard by the door, his shoulders in a tense line.

Stark’s drive beeped three times.

“About fucking time,” Bucky muttered, turning back.

Jesse quickly looked away and pulled the drive free. It weighed next to nothing in her hand, and yet so much rested on getting it out. It _needed_ to get out. As angry as she still was at Bucky’s presumption, there was no sense in holding onto the thing herself. No matter what happened to her, he’d be able to get out.

She held the drive out to Bucky without a word. Bucky’s fingers brushed hers as he took it, and her hand twitched at the touch. He didn’t notice. He just slipped the drive into a pocket on his black cargo pants and pulled his pistol back out of its holster.

Damn her brain. Couldn’t she focus for one minute?

“Let’s go,” he said.

He was all back to business. He cocked his ear to the door, pulled out his gun, and led the way out. The way back to the back staircase was clear; they moved quick and quiet towards the door.

Just as they reached it, the elevator dinged behind them.

Bucky swore. He grabbed Jesse’s elbow and shoved her ahead of him into the stairwell. The door swung shut behind them. From above their heads came the squeak of another door, and then footsteps running.

“Shit,” Bucky hissed. His metal fingers kept a bruising grip on her arm as he ran them both down the stairs. His lightning speed was beyond Jesse, what with being over half a foot shorter. She stumbled on the second floor. She careened into the wall, her arm yanking free of Bucky’s grasp, and banged her head.

A gunshot echoed loud in the stairwell. Jesse scrambled to her feet, head pounding. She’d hit the same damn spot she’d gotten stitches. Bucky was already shooting up towards their pursuer, who yelped.

“Go, go,” Bucky urged.

Jesse ran down the last flight of stairs two at a time; Bucky followed close, gun still trained above. Another door banged open, and more footsteps. As Jesse hurtled down the last half-flight, two more gunshots fired off. She burst out into the alley, her harsh breaths slicing through her lungs like wildfire as pain bloomed in her head.

Bucky slammed the door shut behind them. He grabbed Jesse’s wrist and dragged her along to the main street; her feet felt like lead blocks, but she managed to keep them under her.

Until she didn’t.

Jesse cried out in alarm as she stumbled again. She stuck out her free hand to catch herself, but Bucky caught her first. Without missing a beat, he lifted her with his metal arm—god, more bruising—and swung her in front of him, where he hitched his other arm under her legs. He didn’t stop moving, even when she hooked her arm around his neck. Jesse stared back over Bucky’s shoulder, but no one emerged from the alley to chase them. The air whistling past her was cool on her face; she reached one hand up to touch her temple, and the fingers came back wet with blood.

Bucky skidded to a stop by his bike. He deposited her without ceremony on the back and climbed on in front of her. In the space of half a breath, they were off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that went well... Ha... ha ha.......
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think :3


	13. "Just Squeeze Me"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As he rubbed a soothing ointment in with a gentle finger, he said, “Why don’t you let people worry about you?”
> 
> Jesse blinked. “What?”
> 
> “Whenever I’m worried, you shut it down, or _you_ shut down.” He pressed a gauze pad to her temple and turned to fiddle in the first aid kit for body tape.
> 
> “I don’t know what you mean,” she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for this chapter is "Just Squeeze Me" by Gordon Webster on _Blues Til Dawn_.

Considering its breakneck speed along the throughway, Bucky’s bike was oddly quiet. The dull thrum of other cars and the wind in her ears were more noticeable than the noise of the engine. Once again, Jesse was too distracted to keep track of where Bucky was taking her. Every time before, she’d worn a helmet, but there hadn’t been time to consider road safety when there were people with guns behind them. How could she focus on geography when she was overwhelmed by the wind on her open cut? By their closeness, and her arms wound around his waist and her cheek pressed tight against his back? Not to mention the stray intrusive thought of _let go!_

It was still well before dawn, and Jesse had no idea how long had passed since they’d escaped from Current Relief.

Bucky turned off the highway and took a circuitous route through Cobble Hill. Finally he pulled into a basement garage—a familiar garage, Jesse realized, even if its exact location eluded her. They took the elevator again, and as it went up, Jesse leaned against the back wall behind Bucky and pressed a finger to the reopened cut on her face. She winced. Her fingertip was shiny with blood, though none was running down her face anymore. She sucked the blood off her finger while Bucky was still facing away from her, silent and still save his oddly shallow breathing.

The difference from their first elevator ride together was enough to make Jesse’s eyes sting, though she didn’t cry. If only they could be so at ease with each other again, but now? Now it was impossible.

The elevator dinged, and Bucky pulled her along to his apartment door. His grip on her upper arm was solid, but not harsh like her captors had been. _He_ didn’t make her skin crawl, or sting, or burn.

Bucky stood between her and the elevator down the hall as he unlocked his door, then quickly ushered her inside. He followed, relocked the door, and turned to inspect her. His expression was unreadable as he looked her up and down; she just stared at his face. He did not hold her gaze, nor even change his expression when their eyes met. His eyes did linger on her cut, and he shouldered past her to the kitchen. Jesse just stood in place, eyes closed, until she felt him looming by her again. She opened her eyes.

“Put this there,” Bucky ordered, pressing a damp paper towel to her open cut. The relief was immediate. Jesse took hold of it and he stepped back, though he also held out a protein bar. “Eat this. And sit down.”

Jesse faltered over to Bucky’s couch. She lowered herself down, toed off her shoes, and crossed her legs, resting her elbows on her knees. Her limbs felt heavy, as though her bones had turned to concrete. She was too drained to to turn and see what Bucky was doing; she couldn’t even tell if the noise was coming from the bedroom or the bathroom. Opening the protein bar and holding it up to eat was a trial in and of itself; the food stuck in her dry throat.

Well, they’d both made it back in one piece, apart from whatever amount of blood she’d lost. How did it compare to his other missions? The infiltration of Current Relief surely was a mess from the perspective of the man who had flawlessly executed clandestine assassinations for decades—under brainwashing, no less.

There was a lot to be disappointed about, all things considered. She’d fallen. She’d gotten hurt. She’d actually gone at all, which was what Bucky had objected to most. He might have been right. But she’d saved Mike from being shot at point-blank range, and no one had been killed. Not that she knew of, anyway.

Would Bucky have shot Liz, if not for her? Would he have tried to knock her out before she could shoot Mike? Or would he have let her do it? He’d been focused on keeping Jesse safe, at least until she jumped out into the open. From that point on, his hands had been tied. How much had her spur-of-the-moment decisions made him feel utterly powerless?

And her thoughtless retort…

Jesse shuddered. She lowered her hand, and the damp paper towel with it, and leaned over her crossed legs, pressing her free hand over her eyes.

_Like a fucking serial killer._

How could she have said that to him? She knew what he’d been, and she tried not to let it affect their… acquaintanceship? She didn’t dare call it friendship, not when he’d never referred to her as a friend. She had never assumed anything with him, and yet in a moment that should have been triumphant, she’d called him the worst of all possible things. She squeezed her eyes shut. God, what must he think of her now? Foolish for her behavior, cruel for what she’d said to him. Would she ever be able to look him in the face again? How could he forgive her?

The couch dipped to her right; Jesse took a shallow breath and dropped her hand from her face.

Bucky had taken off his jacket and much of his tactical gear; all that remained was a holstered gun strapped to his leg. He’d rolled up the sleeves on his shirt too, baring his lower arms to her. His legs, torso, and upper arms were still fully covered—his boots were still on, even—but she’d still never seen so much of him bared.

“Turn this way,” he instructed.

Jesse shifted around to face him, her legs still crossed. She blinked. A first aid kit lay open on his other side. It was everything she’d need to bandage her face back up. She fiddled with the damp paper towel on her knee; it was beginning to soak through her jeans.

Bucky grabbed her chin and turned her head to inspect her cut. Jesse sucked in a breath at the feel of his hand—his flesh and bones hand—on her face. His fingertips were rougher than her own; his hands were cool from a recent wash. She stared over his shoulder at the fruit painting behind her. It wasn’t just oranges; there were apples, too. Bucky might know the painter, but Jesse didn’t have the courage to speak to him yet.

“Keep looking there.” Bucky dropped her chin and rummaged in the kit at his other hip. He made a little frustrated noise. Jesse winced.

“I can do it, if you like,” she offered.

Bucky leaned back and stared at her, and she flicked her eyes to him when he didn’t respond. Eventually, he shook his head, incredulous.

“Why do you hate to be taken care of?” he asked. “You…” He shook his head again, and this time he didn’t meet her gaze. He twisted his hands together between his legs; his arms clenched, sending the muscles of his right arm into stark definition. Jesse flushed and turned to hug her knees to her chest.

“I don’t hate it,” she said hesitantly. “But I shouldn’t be your problem.”

“My _problem_?”

“I’m not—I’m not supposed to be a problem to anyone. But especially not you.” Jesse didn’t dare look at him. Here she’d called noted reformed assassin Bucky Barnes a serial killer only an hour ago, and now… now they were having a heart-to-heart on his couch.

“Why the hell not?”

“This was supposed to be normal,” Jesse blurted. “You said so yourself! And if I could do that for you—”

“Jess,” Bucky interrupted. He put his prosthetic hand on her shoulder; she finally looked up at him. His face was unsmiling but still gentle, still sincere. “Normal isn’t worth being hurt. It’s… what did you say when we met? It’s the cost of doing business.”

“Things have gone way past business,” Jesse joked hoarsely. She couldn’t even remember saying that; how much did he remember? How much had he picked up on, over the last weeks? Did he know everything?

“You’re right,” Bucky said. The corners of his mouth quirked up. “Friends look out for each other, no?”

_Friends_. Jesse sighed. She couldn’t quite smile, but her heart warmed at finally being called his friend. “I was trying to do that, as much as I could, but… Well, I’m not very good at it, I guess.”

“Yes you are,” he argued. “You always did for me. Unless you were busy jumping in front of someone about to be shot.”

Jesse scratched the back of her neck and screwed up her mouth. “I didn’t mean to fuck everything up,” she said.

“You didn’t,” he told her. “Now face the damn painting and hold still.”

She did as she was told, though this time her eyes flitted to his face as he focused on her cut. He was focused, serious; for a moment he reminded her of the blond doctor’s businesslike manner, but Bucky’s hands were gentle on her skin. Even the metal one. The astringent burned something fierce; she clenched her teeth against the pain and tried to keep her head still.

As he rubbed a soothing ointment in with a gentle finger, he said, “Why don’t you let people worry about you?”

Jesse blinked. “What?”

“Whenever I’m worried, you shut it down, or _you_ shut down.” He pressed a gauze pad to her temple and turned to fiddle in the first aid kit for body tape.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said.

“Right now, yesterday with the notebook. The break-in at your apartment, for god’s sake.”

“ _That?_ I thought I was crazy!” Jesse exclaimed. “I thought I was imagining things. Why would I tell anyone about that?”

Bucky paused. “You didn’t tell anyone at all?”

“No, of course not,” Jesse answered, face pinched. “It’s like I said. I don’t want people to have to worry about me!”

Bucky shook his head. “I can’t help but worry about the people I care about. I don’t think anyone can help it, honestly.”

Jesse’s heart pounded in her chest. He cared about her? After all she’d done, and all she’d said? How was this possible?

“More to the point,” he continued, “I like you as you are. It’s the circumstances that suck. But none of that is your fault.” He finished taping the gauze onto her face, and he squeezed her shoulder. “All good.”

Jesse’s heart was too full for her to speak. She reached out and hugged him tight around the neck, pressing her face into his shoulder. She was afraid to look at him; she felt close to tears from his words. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had said something so nice about her. Her work, sure; her dancing, of course. But about _her?_

She couldn’t remember.

Bucky slowly put a hand on her back; it was his natural hand, the warm one that he put around her when they were dancing. She’d missed this so much. Being held in his arms, even as little as now, was a balm even when she was miserable about him. Would that she could bottle this feeling. After a minute she even felt bold enough to speak.

“I’m so sorry for what I said,” she murmured. “I wasn’t thinking, and I said something awful, and I’m sorry.”

Bucky was quiet; for a moment he just rubbed a little circle on her back. “I get it,” he said. He pressed his face into her hair; his breath was warm on her scalp. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just… I was worried, Jess. I was worried.”

“You were right to be.” Jesse sighed. “Who jumped in front of a gun? It wasn’t you.”

Bucky pulled back just enough to look her in the face. A little smile played across his lips. She’d never been this close to him; her arms were still hooked around his neck. She looked away from his soft pink mouth—god, in another world she’d have the guts to throw caution to the wind and just kiss him—and met his eyes instead. Not that his eyes were any less distracting. There was something hesitant about them, something that made her want to comfort him. She was so close she could have counted his eyelashes. But she was too buried in the blue depths of his eyes.

“—your help,” Bucky was saying.

Jesse had been too focused on him to process what he’d said. She had to ask him to repeat himself; her cheeks burned, but he didn’t comment on her distractibility.

“You did a good thing, even though he in no way deserved your help.”

Jesse opened her mouth to respond, but Bucky cut her off.

“He’s the reason you went through hell. He could have taken your name off the list. He could’ve protected you at all. But he’s complicit, Jesse. He’s complicit.”

Her shoulders slumped. She unwound her arms from around his neck. Letting go felt like a loss, like an opportunity had passed and she’d fucked it up. She hugged herself and shook her head. “I know,” she said. “I know! But he still regretted it. He wanted to help me, in the end. He got Liz out, too.” She blinked. “I hope, anyway.”

“He should have gone to someone who could help,” Bucky argued. “Why did he have to get you involved?”

Jesse frowned at her lap. “He… he knew he’d see me,” she said slowly. “Maybe he couldn’t have stopped it.”

At that, Bucky scoffed. “It was a hazard to involve you. You’d seen two of them already!”

“Sure, but…” Jesse’s cut began to ache from her deep frown, but she ignored the pain and tried to think. The blond doctor had said something, when she’d first seen Jesse… “Wait,” she said. “Even the doctor—Dr. Faulk, I guess? Even she didn’t want me there. She asked who put me on their list. How could it have gotten to that point without her knowing? She seemed so in charge, at least compared to the others I saw. But I didn’t see the whole operation.”

“We’ll know more soon,” Bucky said darkly. He nodded at the kitchen counter; his laptop was up and running, and Stark’s drive was plugged into it. “In the meantime, you should get some rest.”

“Well, you’re hogging my space,” she quipped, sounding far more chipper than she felt. Her chest was clenched with an awful grief, grief and something that felt like heartbreak. Would she ever have the courage to do something about all her suppressed desires?

Probably not.

Bucky gathered his kit and stood up. “You should get some real sleep.”

“I can sleep here,” she protested. “I’d just need a blanket and—”

“Let me take care of you,” he interrupted. He gave a tiny smile. “For a change.”

“For a change?” Jesse stood up, but she couldn’t let his last statement slide. “You just saved my life! You took on this crazy project for me, you cured me of whatever they’d done—wait.” She paused at the door to the bedroom, her memory suddenly jolted. “You knocked me out!”

He gave an apologetic smile and scratched the back of his head. “I did. It worked on me, before. Uh, sorry?”

Jesse just laughed. His smile was a cure for anything. “Apology not accepted. You’ll have to live with that guilt. I think you’ll manage, though.”

Bucky shook his head and rummaged through his drawers, giving Jesse a chance to look his bedroom over. He’d discarded his tactical gear in a pile by the closet door, but his guns were nowhere to be seen. Hopefully they were locked up in a safe somewhere. The bed was rumpled, but nominally made, with a dark red blanket and white sheets. The walls here had more art than the common space: a poster with a poem in some Cyrillic language, an exhibit poster from the Met, and an oil painting of a cityscape in the rain. All of the art featured the same red as the blanket. Had he picked it all out? She couldn’t quite imagine it.

Bucky turned back and held out a pile of clothes. “For sleeping,” he explained. “Use whatever you want.”

“Thank you,” she said with awe. She was already wearing a borrowed shirt; she could have slept in it. But no, he was taking care of her. _For a change_ , he claimed. That was laughable, really. He’d been taking care of her nonstop for the last day and a half, not to mention his harried visit to her place when she’d first gotten home. He’d freed her, given her back her autonomy. He’d arranged for her to leave the hospital safely. He’d fed her and given her a place to stay. How could she ever thank him enough?

“Bathroom’s free,” he said.

Jesse left, the pile of clothes in hand, and locked the bathroom door behind her. She sagged against the door, dropping the clothes on the floor. Bucky was so good, so kind. He’d been through hell in so many times and ways, but he hadn’t given up. He’d still done so much to help her, to help BCEI.

Her work… She’d forgotten all about it. Would she be able to go back tomorrow? Would Bucky want her to keep a low profile until they knew just what they were up against?

Jesse shook her head. Work would have to wait.

She sorted through Bucky’s clothes. Drawstring pajama pants—flannel, no less—and a long-sleeved shirt, a t-shirt, and a button-down shirt. She raised her eyebrows at the latter. Who wore buttons to bed? She put on the t-shirt; it had a nice loose v-neck and was long enough on her that she felt safe in forsaking the flannel pants, which would undoubtedly end up bunched in annoying bands around her knees within an hour. Bucky could survive witnessing some leg.

She did as much of her bedtime routine as she could. Toilet, teeth-brushing with the toothbrush Bucky had given her the day before, washing her face without disturbing her bandaged temple. She shook out her hair and rebraided it tight across her head, catching as many flyaway strands as she could.

Before she went back to the bedroom, Jesse looked herself over in the mirror. The bandage on her face wasn’t as big as the one from the hospital, and though she was still mostly pale she knew the color in her cheeks wasn’t from the temperature in the apartment. She was getting goosebumps just standing in the bathroom in the nightshirt, though her blush had yet to recede.

Yet for all her little blunders, Bucky was still acting much the same, as if her own internal struggle was invisible to him. She could only hope he didn’t know, didn’t recognize the strain she was under in being so close to him, so comparatively open. They were friends, dammit, nothing more.

Nothing more.

Jesse splashed cold water on her face one more time. Her face was almost back to its normal state—normal when Bucky wasn’t around, anyway. If he didn’t let her go straight to bed, she was sure she’d be red as a beet within a few minutes. As much as she regretted her longing, she wasn’t so deluded as to think that she didn’t have good reason for it. If only he was a little less kind, or a little less magnetic, or a little less talented, or—

But Bucky was Bucky, and even though she was barred from being with him as she wanted, she knew she’d never leave him.

Not unless—or until—he made her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! Finally, some rest for these two XD
> 
> Hope you enjoyed and let me know what you think!!!


	14. "I Guess I'll Have To Change My Plan"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What the hell,” she breathed.
> 
> “Yeah,” Bucky said darkly. “That’s just the beginning.” He made a separate spreadsheet fullscreen and shifted the laptop back in her direction.
> 
> Another list of people. Jesse frowned.
> 
> “I recognize some of these names,” she blurted. “That’s… my state senator? And that city councilor with the baby! What the hell are they planning?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for this chapter is “I Guess I’ll Have To Change My Plan” by Jack Teagarden on _Nobody Knows_.

A knock on the door startled Jesse awake. She stared around, momentarily confused, until she remembered she was at Bucky’s place. In Bucky’s _bed_. Jesse sat up quickly, blinked to restore her equilibrium, and smoothed down her hair.

“Yeah?” she asked, voice hoarse with sleep. A clock by the side of the bed glowed dimly at her—god, it was barely past five. She rubbed her eyes and shook herself a little more awake.

Bucky opened the door and came a few steps inside before he paused, eyes wide. The sight of him put a smile on her face. He looked good, considering the hour, and he’d shed his long-sleeved shirt for a tank top. She’d been surprised last night when he’d rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, but this… Jesse had never seen his scars before. Her smile faded fast. The scars that stretched from the junction of his left shoulder and his prosthetic arm were stark against the rest of his skin, and she had to look away. Maybe one day she would be used to seeing the evidence of torture on him, but not yet. Not yet.

Jesse looked down and flushed. Well, no wonder Bucky was just standing there. The wide v-neck of her borrowed nightshirt had gone askew during the night, laying bare one of her shoulders and more skin on her chest than even her sexiest tops showed. One of her legs was mostly exposed, too. She tugged the collar back over her shoulder and crossed her legs under the blanket.

“Sorry,” she said. “Um… what’s up?”

Bucky blinked and strode over to the bed, any trace of surprise gone. He sat right beside her, his thigh pressed against her covered knee, and set the laptop in front of them. “It’s done.”

Jesse blew out a breath between her teeth. Her body tensed up as she waited for Bucky to finish generating the data he’d been hoping for. Had they found a jackpot or a minefield?

“Here,” Bucky said at last. “Your list.” He sat back and gestured for Jesse to read. Her eyes were still a little blurred from sleep, so she leaned forward, propping herself up on her hand. There were a few things open on the screen, but a spreadsheet with her own name on it grabbed her attention first.

The spreadsheet was full of information, a different person on each row. Jesse scrolled across the row assigned to her, her eyes widening as she saw how much information they had gotten. Appearance, address, phone number, social media accounts, weekly schedule… And none of it looked wrong.

“Jesus,” she whispered. She pressed a hand to her mouth and scrolled up and down. There were twenty-eight people on the list; Jesse was number twenty-three. Most of them were young women, and almost all were from Brooklyn or Queens. The one who’d almost shot Mike was twenty-four. If they were working through one person a week, this had been going on for months already, practically since the beginning of the year!

Jesse opened the spreadsheet’s second tab and blanched. This one had less information, but there were hundreds of names. Hundreds!

“What the hell,” she breathed.

“Yeah,” Bucky said darkly. “That’s just the beginning.” He made a separate spreadsheet fullscreen and shifted the laptop back in her direction.

Another list of people. Jesse frowned.

“I recognize some of these names,” she blurted. “That’s… my state senator? And that city councilor with the baby! What the hell are they planning?” She twisted around to face Bucky.

“That’s the problem.” He grimaced and scooched back to lean against the headboard. “There’s nothing.”

Jesse groaned and scooted back too, though she maintained a foot of distance from Bucky. “Fuck.”

“You talked with Mike yesterday,” Bucky said. “What did he say? Anything?”

“Nothing about their goals,” she admitted, and Bucky pursed his lips. Jesse could have kicked herself. Why hadn’t she thought to ask Mike more?

“Well, with all this, there’s gotta be something to pin on them. Even if there’s no clear motive.” Bucky pushed his hair back from his face and glanced at her. His gaze dropped from her eyes to her shoulders, then slowly roved back up. Heat prickled along Jesse’s neck. Bucky swallowed. “I—”

His phone buzzed. Bucky flinched and turned away. Jesse let out a slow breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

Whatever notification he’d gotten must have been urgent. Bucky sprang to his feet and headed to the door.

“Some of your stuff’s over on the dresser. Get dressed,” he said curtly, and then he was out of the room. The door closed sharply behind him.

Jesse stretched her legs, face pinched. Every time she thought something was about to happen, nothing did. Nothing was _going_ to happen. She needed to focus, damn it.

She slid out from under the covers and gathered the outfit Bucky had left for her. She tugged on her leggings, but she hesitated to remove Bucky’s shirt. She clenched her hands around the fabric at her collarbone and pulled it to her nose. She breathed deep, eyes closed. The nightshirt had absorbed some of the scent of his sheets, and Jesse was loath to discard it for a bloodstained dress. But she couldn’t just take his things, no matter how much she wanted to bottle up that comforting smell and all the feelings that went with it. She pulled off his shirt and quickly put on her bra—if she didn’t get a change, she’d wear it out soon enough—and the blue dress.

Before she headed out, she checked herself in the mirror over his bureau. The bags under her eyes weren’t particularly noticeable, the bandage on her face was a reasonable size, and once she braided her hair she looked almost presentable. Not that Bucky had ever noticed how she looked, apart from her fifties dress at the confounded Stark benefit and her immodest wake-up attire today.

Well, she cared even if he didn’t. She shuddered to think of all the times he’d seen her looking out of joint. But right now, she looked alright. She licked her dry lips, made the bed, and folded the nightshirt. Her fingers lingered on the cotton as she left it on the pillow.

Jesse opened the door back out to the main space and froze. The bedroom door was straight across from the front door, and Bucky was talking to someone there in the dark entryway too softly for Jesse to hear. Neither of them seemed to have noticed her. Bucky’s shoulders were tight; his white tank was fitted enough that she could see how tense he was even from thirty feet behind.

After a minute, she edged farther into the living room. Bucky spun around. Without his body hiding most of his guest’s, Jesse recognized the redheaded woman who had swapped places with her at the hospital.

“Natasha?” she said.

“Jesse.” Natasha nodded in greeting. At the hospital, she’d been dressed to match Jesse, but now she was just in black jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. Her face was pale, and her mouth was tight. “I’m here to take you somewhere safe.”

Jesse glanced at Bucky. His expression was flat, different from his usual stressed face. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“I’m here to escort you to a safehouse,” Natasha replied.

“That isn’t any different from what you just said,” Jesse pointed out.

Natasha’s lips twitched; she glanced at Bucky with a flicker of amusement. “You’re not safe in the city. We have a safehouse upstate.”

Jesse blinked. “I can’t go upstate,” she said. “I have work.”

“You’re not safe here,” Natasha repeated. “No offense, Barnes.” Bucky dipped his chin the barest amount. A muscle in his jaw jumped.

Did his own teammates not even call him by name? Jesse flexed her hands at her sides; her shoulders felt as stiff as Bucky’s looked. “Why do you say I’m not safe? What happened?” she asked Natasha.

“Someone tried to kill you last night,” Natasha said.

“Well, yes,” Jesse said. “But they don’t know—”

“What?!” Natasha spun on Bucky, brows drawn low. “Tell me you didn’t take her with you.” Bucky didn’t answer immediately, and Natasha punched his arm as she scowled at him. “I can’t believe this! Bucky, she’s a _civilian_.”

“It’s not his fault,” Jesse cut in. “I mean… our inside contact pretty much required me to go if Bucky was going to get in.”

“He could’ve got in all on his own just fine,” Natasha countered. “There’s no situation he couldn’t have made work. He’s a professional.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “This is beside the point. Those people? They came to the hospital last night, and they tried to kill you.”

Jesse blanched. “No! Are you okay? I’m so sorry—”

“Jesse,” Bucky interrupted. She fell silent and stared at him with wide eyes. He didn’t meet her gaze. “Not your fault.”

“That’s not what I— _Are_ you okay?” she asked Natasha.

“Oh, _I’m_ fine.” Natasha glanced again at Bucky. “But someone came looking for you, and it’s only so long before they start up again. Someone’s coming to pick us up. I’ll bring you to our safehouse myself.”

“I can’t just leave,” Jesse protested. “I have a job, I have a family, I have…” She trailed off, somewhat abashed. Did she even have friends? After all this drama, would Bucky still want anything to do with her? Not to mention her poor roommate. And how long had it been since she’d chatted with Adrian? Did she really have anyone? “I have friends,” she finished defensively.

“Your life is in danger,” Natasha said sharply.

“That doesn’t mean I can just drop everything!” Jesse’s breath came fast; she tried to take a deep breath, but her heart kept racing. “I can’t just abandon my work. And I have to Skype with my parents on Sunday!” She took a step back when Natasha tried to come closer. Bucky just loomed back in the shadows, staring at the wall.

Natasha pinched the bridge of her nose. “The authorities can talk to your work. We’ll arrange it, and you should be fine. If your work fires you for being under threat by a terrorist group, they’re assholes you shouldn’t work for anyway. And we’ve got ways for you to contact your family _without_ these people finding out.”

Jesse floundered. All that… made sense. She bit her lip as she thought it through, never taking her eyes from Natasha. She still didn’t quite trust that she wasn’t going to be carted off against her will. The Avengers, these former S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, they had contacts everywhere. The Avengers facility was supposed to be upstate, anyway. At least she wasn’t being told to leave the country. And BCEI were understanding. If Marilyn could work remotely due to her injury, maybe Jesse could too. The work was important, and she didn’t want to make everyone else’s lives impossible because of the trap she’d fallen into.

Her eyes slid at last to Bucky. He was still staring at the wall, and his expression was as chilly as it been the first time she’d seen him. She knew now it wasn’t an angry look, but her stomach dropped all the same.

“Bucky?” Jesse asked. His head perked up. “Can we talk?”

Bucky glanced at Natasha, who nodded. Bucky squeezed past her and led Jesse into the bedroom. The door closed behind them with a loud _click_.

Jesse sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. She tucked her hands under her legs and watched, face pinched, as Bucky pressed his hand against the door by the knob. When he finally turned towards her, his expression was blank. The chill was gone, but no warmth had replaced it.

“What?” he asked.

“You seem… Are you okay?”

Bucky blinked. “I’m fine,” he said. “You should go with Nat.”

“I don’t think I have much choice.” Jesse sighed. “If that’s what you both think, I will go. I just don’t want to go without—talking to you.” Her voice caught. Bucky’s expression softened; Jesse’s heart warmed as he sat by her.

“It’ll be fine, Jess,” he said, slinging his heavy arm around her shoulders. “Nat’s a much better person to have looking out for you.”

Jesse laughed out loud and leaned against him. Her cheek was pressed against his bare shoulder; his skin was warm. She could feel his quick heartbeat against her skin. How was it that they kept getting more and more intimate? Maybe she really didn’t have enough friends, if this was what it was supposed to be like.

“I don’t believe that for a second,” she said. “Natasha didn’t even warn me when she shot me with those steroids.”

“I don’t remember giving you a head’s up about knocking you out.” His chest rumbled with a quiet laugh.

“That was the right call,” Jesse said. If he hadn’t gone for it, who knew where she’d be right now? Certainly not sitting on Bucky’s bed, tucked under his arm, his heartbeat a steady rhythm against her cheek. “Natasha _could_ have warned me. I don’t think you could’ve, not without things going to hell even faster.”

Bucky hummed in agreement.

Jesse’s eyes slid shut. For a few moments, at least, she could relax. God knew what would happen once she left. Natasha Romanoff was a virtual stranger. Almost everything Jesse knew of her was years old and probably from biased news sources. If nothing else, Bucky was a known quantity. Jesse knew him; she trusted him. He’d been nothing but good to her, despite all her blundering and awkwardness, not to mention all the problems she’d brought into his life. And to think, it had all started because she’d had to sub at a fancy benefit.

“Do you know,” she murmured, “I’m glad I had to go to that benefit.”

“You finally decided it was worth it, huh?”

Jesse opened her eyes and sat up. “It was worth it,” she said.

Bucky’s arm slid from over her shoulders to around her back, his hand warm and soft on her shoulder blade. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against hers. Jesse’s breath caught as she looked at him. God, he was so close, so beautiful, with his eyes closed and his soft mouth just curving into a smile. She could have stayed here gazing at him forever, she loved him so much.

Jesse’s lips parted in shock. She sprang to her feet, face hot and stomach churning.

“What is it?” Bucky blurted. He leapt up, the hand that had been on her back twitching.

“I… I just—excuse me,” she blurted. She burst out of the bedroom and went straight into the bathroom, not daring to look at Natasha. She slammed the door behind her and locked it.

Holy shit!

She loved Bucky? She loved Bucky! What the hell!

Jesse gripped the edge of the sink and stared at her reflection. How had she missed this? Had it just happened, right there sitting together? Had there been some spark when their faces touched, or had this all been going on for weeks?

Surprise didn’t quite capture her feelings. She was startled, but she couldn’t really be surprised. Dear god, who could overlook Bucky? How could anyone be immune to him? She’d never been. If she wasn’t perturbed, she was aching with silent longing. And given everything, who could blame her? He could turn her into a puddle in his arms; he’d saved her more times than she wanted to think about; he _liked_ her, actually liked her for herself. Her lips quirked up into a smile.

How could she have resisted?

And what the hell was she supposed to do about it?

Jesse’s smile died. She knew the answer to that question, at least. What was she supposed to do? The same thing she’d been doing since the start: nothing.

She’d put Bucky through enough. He didn’t need to deal with her dumb feelings too, especially not now while there was an evil organization out to get them. She’d be the master of herself, and Bucky could live his life.

She’d live with what she got. And no more.

Jesse washed her face, brushed her teeth. She grabbed her toothbrush as she left the bathroom.

Bucky was standing with Natasha by the couch; they both turned to stare at her as she came out.

“Sorry,” Jesse said. She put a hand to her stomach, hoping the insinuation of nausea would ward off further questions.

It did.

“Ready?” Natasha asked.

“One sec.” Jesse ducked back into the bedroom and grabbed her backpack. She glanced one last time around the room; the shirt she’d worn was still on the pillow, waiting for Bucky to wash away all evidence of her.

She pressed a hand to her mouth, sucked in a final breath, and left.

“I’m ready,” she told Natasha. She didn’t look at Bucky.

“Good,” Natasha said. She pushed herself off the couch and went straight for the door.

Jesse paused in front of the couch. She glanced up just far enough to see Bucky’s chin. “Bye, Bucky.”

“Hey,” he protested, grabbing her arm. She winced; he’d bruised her badly last night, though no marks had formed yet. “Shit, I’m sorry.” His hand slid down to her wrist; goosebumps ran down her arm in its wake. “Listen…”

Jesse finally looked Bucky in the face. He was worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Her eyes fixed on his mouth until he let out a sigh and glanced over towards Natasha. Jesse’s jaw ticked, and she looked away.

“Take care of yourself, Jesse,” Bucky said at last. He dropped her wrist. She forced a smile as her stomach dropped.

“I’ll do my best.”

Jesse followed Natasha out. She didn’t look back, not even when the door shut.

“Listen,” Natasha said in the elevator down, “as secure as his place seems, it’s got nothing to the safehouse. You’ll be perfectly safe.”

“Sure.” Jesse stared at the floor, eyes blurring.

Whatever Natasha thought, Jesse couldn’t imagine feeling safer outside of the city. However temporary, Bucky’s place had felt like her home. _Bucky_ felt like home. That aborted moment when he’d pressed his forehead to hers and smiled…

Jesse clenched her teeth. A black car with tinted windows waited right at the entrance. Natasha ushered Jesse into the back and followed closely, her red hair swinging against Jesse’s shoulder. Jesse didn’t recognize the driver, but Natasha ordered them to head out without preamble.

As the car peeled away from the curb, Jesse glanced back to Bucky’s building. Other buildings blocked it from view in seconds. Jesse turned and wrapped her arms around herself.

Bucky’s place was closed to her now, and she was at the mercy of strangers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like it! Let me know what you think :3


	15. "Ain't Misbehavin'"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse dumped her backpack on the bed and rummaged through her clothes. Everything was wrinkled, even the jeans. She spread them across the bedspread. Her fingers lingered on the smooth pillow.
> 
> How many people had been here? Was she the first in a while, or just the latest in a long line of helpless civilians caught up in something too big for them?
> 
> She climbed onto the bed and fell on her side, exhaustion seeping over her like a wet blanket. Was this the price for knowing Bucky?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for this chapter is “Ain’t Misbehavin’ - 2016 Mono Remaster” by Ray Charles on _The Atlantic Studio Albums in Mono (Remastered)_.

The two-hour drive north to the safehouse passed in silence. Natasha spent the bulk of the time frowning at her smartphone. Jesse pressed her forehead against the tinted window and dozed straight through sunrise.

Only once they pulled off the freeway did Natasha slide her phone back in her pocket with a sigh.

“Jesse.”

Jesse rubbed her sore neck. “Hm?”

“Once we get to the house, I’ll want to talk to you about what happened with Current Relief,” Natasha said. Her eyes were wide, mouth serious. “Is that okay?”

“About what happened last night?”

“That too. But I really wanted to hear what you went through.”

Jesse flinched. She pulled up her feet and wrapped an arm around her knees. “I told Bucky…”

“I know,” Natasha said soothingly. “He told me some of it when he first found out. I just want to hear it straight from you. Things can get lost in translation.”

“What, were you speaking in Russian?” Jesse pursed her lips. Natasha blinked; a smirk ghosted over her features.

“No,” she said. “But still. You had some time to rest. Think you’re good to talk? It’ll help us make sense of all the data. And talking things over can help.” She sighed. “To a degree, anyway. It’s better than not talking.”

Jesse turned to stare back out of the window, her cheek pressed against her knee. She hadn’t been able to talk about any of it with Bucky. She hadn’t wanted him to see her at her worst. Better to have written it out.

Jesse bit her tongue to keep from swearing. She should’ve brought the notebook with her.

But Natasha wasn’t Bucky. Maybe with a stranger, it wouldn’t be so hard to keep her cool. And if she did get all panicked, at least it wasn’t Bucky seeing her fall apart.

“Yeah. Yeah. Sure.”

“Thank you, Jesse,” Natasha murmured. She reached out and gently squeezed Jesse’s shoulder.

Wherever they were, it was disgustingly suburban—exurban, even. This was the sort of place people went when they had a flock of kids and a flock of dogs. They turned off onto an even more remote road. Sparse woods grew thicker as they wound along, reaching up into the dull blue sky.

“I don’t know how people live out here,” Jesse muttered.

“They have cars and they enjoy open space,” Natasha answered. “This is nothing. I know someone who lives on a farm. With a tractor.”

Jesse’s lips twitched. “How quaint.”

The car pulled up to a house at the end of the paved part of a narrow road in sparse woods. The road continued on into the trees as just gravel and dirt. Jesse stared at the two-story house. Big yard, shuttered windows. Dilapidated detached garage. The place looked semi-abandoned. There was no sign of life. Natasha opened her door, but Jesse paused.

“How is this place safer, exactly?” Jesse asked. “It looks like anyone could just… waltz on over.”

“It’s more secure than it looks,” Natasha said with a roll of her eyes. “Come on.”

Jesse sighed. “At least Bucky’s place had a doorman,” she grumbled, but she clambered out with her backpack and trailed after Natasha the weedy path to the front door. Behind them, the car peeled away.

Natasha didn’t put a key in the front door. She didn’t even ring the doorbell. Instead, she lifted the whole doorbell up off the wall and pressed her fingers in rapid succession over a tiny electronic pad. Jesse stared as a red light turned green and the door whirred, clicked, and swung open.

“Welcome to your safehouse, Jesse,” Natasha intoned. She led the way inside; Jesse shut her gaping mouth and followed.

Despite the unlived-in exterior, the inside was neat. Painfully neat, to Jesse’s eye. There was a garland of fake flowers hanging in the front hall, but without any hint of dust among the leaves or on the floor.

It all reminded her of the freaky neatness of her own room when she’d been brainwashed. Did the beds in here have hospital corners? She wouldn’t be surprised.

“That’s the way up,” Natasha said, pointing towards a staircase. “Don’t open this door. It’s locked, anyway.” She patted on what Jesse assumed was the basement door.

“What’s down there?” Jesse asked.

Natasha raised her eyebrows and looked Jesse over from head to toe. “Skeletons,” she deadpanned.

“Er—right.” Jesse bared her teeth in a makeshift smile and didn’t press the issue. She could just imagine a creepy SHIELD control center, with a hidden prison and a swivel chair in a dark room, surrounded by hissing monitors…

Jesse hurried after Natasha, who circled through the ground-level rooms at a sharp clip.

“Kitchen, pantry, living room,” Natasha rattled off. “Bathroom down here is off the kitchen. There’s an enclosed porch you can use through here. The hammock is nice. Just don’t open the blinds.”

“What _can_ I do?”

“I’ll show you to your room, and you can put your stuff away.” Natasha paused on the bottom stair and caught Jesse’s eye. “You can keep yourself busy, right?”

“Of course,” Jesse said, eyebrows raised.

“Good.” Natasha climbed up the stairs two at a time, but her steps were almost silent. Jesse felt like an elephant in comparison, but then again, did she need to step lightly here? This wasn’t Current Relief.

“And here’s your room.” Natasha pushed open a door right by the top of the stairs. “Make yourself at home. Bathroom’s right there. I’ll be downstairs when you’re ready.” She disappeared downstairs, leaving Jesse alone.

Jesse rubbed the back of her neck and inched into the bedroom. It was small, smaller than most bedrooms she’d seen even in the city, with just one narrow dresser and a nightstand by the full bed. She glanced to the hallway with raised eyebrows. Even her bed was bigger than that. Like at Bucky’s place, both windows were covered. In a way, the soft lighting and red bedspread felt familiar. Safe. Maybe the same person decorated both places.

But there was no art on the walls. No Cyrillic poetry, not posters. No trace of Bucky, nor anyone else.

Jesse dumped her backpack on the bed and rummaged through her clothes. Everything was wrinkled, even the jeans. She spread them across the bedspread. Her fingers lingered on the smooth pillow.

How many people had been here? Was she the first in a while, or just the latest in a long line of helpless civilians caught up in something too big for them?

She climbed onto the bed and fell on her side, exhaustion seeping over her like a wet blanket. Was this the price for knowing Bucky?

_Bucky_.

Jesse curled up and hugged her hollow chest. Bucky, Bucky, Bucky—she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Everything circled back to him. The bedspread, the blank walls, her own damn aching heart. How long was she going to be caught in this spiral?

She wished she’d had the guts to just tell him before Natasha had dragged her off to the middle of nowhere. This would have been a great place to sob herself to sleep over a predictable rejection. Secluded, surrounded by strangers who didn’t give a shit about her… No chance of seeing Bucky by accident.

_I’m such a coward._

Jesse’s heart wrenched a muffled cry from her throat. She clamped a hand over her mouth and took quick breaths to stifle her sobs. He’d never denied her a thing, yet here she was, drowning in misery. Sure, she could dream up a scenario that ended with him holding her, smiling, his lips on hers… But that would only ever be a dream. Add in even a drop of logic, and that dream was fool’s gold.

Bucky Barnes had better things to do than be with her, and she needed to get used to it.

Jesse dragged herself out of bed and made her way to the bathroom. She stared at herself in the mirror. Well, she looked like shit. Bloodshot eyes, red nose, pale mouth. The lingering bloodstain on her blue dress made her wince; was there a laundry here somewhere? She’d have to ask.

Cold water helped with her face, but she was sure Natasha would see right through it. And she was right—as soon as she made it downstairs to the kitchen, Natasha looked up from her laptop and frowned.

“Were you crying?” Natasha asked.

Jesse looked away and nodded. She slid into the seat across from Natasha and knotted her fingers together in her lap where Natasha couldn’t see. “Sorry.”

“For christ’s—” Natasha cut herself off and stilled with effort. “Jesse. You do not need to apologize. This is not a fun spot to be in. You are allowed to have feelings about that.”

_Am I, though?_

Feelings, sure. Today, Jesse felt like a slave to her feelings. But expressing them? With Bucky off-limits and out of reach plus her own detestation of making a fool of herself, Jesse really didn’t think she wanted to. She screwed her mouth into as much of a smile as she could muster and finally met Natasha’s eye. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Good. Anyway,” Natasha continued, clearly glad to have gotten that out of the way and already back to typing, “I want you to know what’s going to happen here. We have people contacting your place of work and the local police, and we’ll keep you posted as needed. You’ll need to stay inside at all times. Once a week, someone will do a grocery run for the house, so write down what you’ll need for yourself. And there will always be an agent on-duty here. For now, that’s me.”

“How long are you going to be here?” Jesse asked, heart sinking.

“Another agent will be coming to relieve me tomorrow.” Natasha finished typing and glanced up. Something of Jesse’s feelings must have shown on her face, because Natasha sighed and closed her laptop. “You’ll be in good hands, no need to worry.”

Jesse bit her lip. How could she help but worry? This morning, she’d been safe at Bucky’s, safe _with_ Bucky. Then Natasha had whisked her out to the middle of nowhere, and now she was going to be stuck here with a total stranger? Not that Natasha was a friend, but at least Jesse had met her before. She had Bucky’s approval. But Jesse wasn’t sure that the associative property applied here. Sure, Bucky trusted Natasha… but that didn’t mean he’d automatically trust anyone Natasha did.

“Do you know who’s coming next?” she asked.

“Richard Rensselaer. He’s worked with SHIELD for six years. He’s competent. Not particularly sociable, but very competent,” Natasha rattled off.

“So… a guy,” Jesse said.

Natasha raised her eyebrows and folded her hands together. “We can’t just reassign people at the drop of a hat. Besides, you stayed with Bucky.”

“Yeah…” Jesse squirmed in her seat as Natasha stared her down with the intensity of a thousand suns. “But I know him!” Jesse blurted.

“Hm,” Natasha said. She opened her computer, eyes still fixed on Jesse’s, and only after some stuttered typing did she glance down. “Not for very long. He told me all this started when you met—or because of it, anyway. Tell me.”

“Well, I don’t know when it all started,” Jesse said slowly. “We met at the Stark Foundation benefit… I guess three Sundays ago?”

Natasha nodded.

“I had to cover my coworker, who broke her ankle, and Bucky asked me to dance.” The sudden memory of being caught up in his arms brought warmth to Jesse’s cheeks. She hurried on. “And then I told him where Marilyn—my coworker—was staying. I ran into him there, and, um, I told him he should come dancing. And he did.”

“Seriously? You told the Winter Soldier he should go _dancing?_ ”

“Erm, yes?”

“You have some guts,” Natasha said, impressed.

“Well,” Jesse said, cheeks hotter than ever, “I think _everyone_ should go dancing. It beats a whole lot of other things.”

“Still,” Natasha said. “James Barnes isn’t just anyone.” A sudden grin spread on her face. “He must be good, huh?”

Jesse bit her lip and nodded. Natasha looked back to her computer, but Jesse still had the sense she was being _observed._

“Then what?” Natasha asked, fingers poised on the keyboard.

“Um, he came dancing.” Jesse tucked a leg under her and waited for Natasha to glance up from her typing before she continued. “And he asked if I’d be interested in teaching with him. For my work.”

“The Brooklyn Children’s Education Initiative.”

“Yeah, although we just call it BCEI,” Jesse said. “Multisyllabic words and all.”

All in all, this was an awful lot like a meeting at work, except that for once it wasn’t Jesse taking notes. That was a relief. If she had to talk _and_ type _and_ eventually try not to cry… That would be too much.

“And that proposal went through, as I understand.” Natasha was typing again, her nails clicking gently against the keys in a streaming rhythm.

Jesse nodded, but didn’t elaborate. How much did Natasha already know? Her blushes had been a blunder, she realized—Natasha could read people, couldn’t she? She was a spy. That was her _job._ There was no taking back what she’d said, but she’d gotten distracted by pleasant memories. No more. Let Natasha take what she could get, at least as far as her relationship with Bucky was concerned.

Besides, that relationship was already established. There was no need to get into details, and Natasha surely had no interest in Jesse’s feelings. Her chief concern was information about Current Relief.

“Tell me about the first break-in.”

Jesse took a steadying breath and launched into as neutral a narrative as she could manage of the morning she’d plunged her hand in the toilet and detailed the other little clues she’d half-ignored.

Natasha furrowed her eyebrows when Jesse finished telling how her day had gone after that. “You say you ignored it, but that’s not quite true,” she said. “Bucky said you weren’t sleeping well…”

“I’m a millennial; bad sleep schedules are practically a requirement,” Jesse said snidely, but her eyes stung. If she didn’t make jokes, she knew she’d cry, and she had as much pride as any Avenger. She rubbed at her pulsing temple. Natasha shook back her red hair and pursed her lips.

“Well, that’s not true, but go on. What next?”

Jesse talked, and talked, and talked. All the while, Natasha probed for more, more—more details, more emotion, more background.

“What do you mean?”

“Tell me about this Mike Fuller.”

“If they bugged your apartment, why didn’t they recognize Bucky when he came over a few days later?”

That, at last, gave Jesse pause. “I don’t know.”

“Bucky says he found multiple listening devices in your apartment. Didn’t you say hi? ‘Hi, Bucky, come in’ or something?”

“No-o,” Jesse said slowly. She bent her legs up and wound her arms around them. “I didn’t call him by name.”

Natasha stared. “Why not?”

“ _I_ don’t know!” Jesse cried. She pressed her forehead to her knee and stared cross-eyed at the crosshatched fabric of her leggings, willing her tears to stay tucked behind her eyes. Why couldn’t Natasha leave her alone? Sure, Bucky’s name rolled of her tongue like honey _now,_ but back then it had felt like an imposition. She thought back to their first meeting. Had he even introduced himself?

No. He hadn’t.

“Moving on,” Natasha said. “Talk me through the rest.”

Jesse sighed.

 

—

 

“Bucky said you were smart,” Natasha said later, once Jesse had reached Natasha’s arrival at Bucky’s place. They were still at the kitchen table, but Natasha had gotten them both glasses of water, and the light slanted more and more through the curtains. “He was right.”

Jesse’s face burned. She couldn’t meet Natasha’s eye. “If I was smart, I probably wouldn’t have gone through all that. I would have—”

“Cut the crap,” Natasha interrupted, but she was smiling gently. “Even smart people get screwed over. All things considered, you did damn good. You saved that girl Liz, you realized something was wrong… Hell, you even got Bucky out of his comfort zone after what, meeting him twice?”

Jesse bit her lip to keep from snorting. The sniff she couldn’t help. “Alright, alright. Thank you.”

“If you don’t trust my judgment, you might as well trust his.”

Jesse’s breath caught in her throat; her eyes snapped to Natasha’s.

Natasha tilted her glass in a circle; the water sparkled from the evening sun streaming through the lace curtain over the western window. “Last week, he had some good things to say.”

Jesse bit her tongue hard to keep from asking more, but Natasha glanced up at her and nearly smirked.

“He was excited to be working on a normal project. With you,” Natasha clarified.

“Huh.” Jesse smiled ruefully and stifled a yawn. “Well, god willing we’ll be able to get back to it. Someday.”

“I’m sure,” Natasha said. She went back to typing. “Are you hungry?”

“Not really.” Jesse’s stomach did feel hollow, but the sudden heaviness in her limbs was more pressing. “I think I’m going to lie down.” She tried to stand, but her knees buckled. She fell heavily back into her chair and stared dimly at Natasha. This feeling… she’d felt it before. This was the same terrifying exhaustion that had come over her during her abduction! Jesse’s hand shook as she tried to push herself back up; tears sprang to her eyes as her tongue turned to ash in her mouth.

“No, no… Wha—”

“Woah, calm down,” Natasha said. She hurried over and slipped Jesse’s arm over her shoulders, guiding her to her feet. Natasha was slender and not even as tall as Jesse, but her arms were all muscle. “The sedative I gave you must be wearing off. It’s nothing to be worried about.”

Jesse had just enough energy to roll her eyes. “Shoulda told me,” she muttered. “Shoulda.”

“Coulda, shoulda, woulda,” Natasha parrotted back. She led Jesse up the stairs one step at a time. “Almost there. And hey, look on the bright side. You’ll sleep _really_ well.”

“Hmph,” Jesse said, but the moment Natasha guided her onto the bed, she was out cold.

 

—

 

Jesse woke to a pounding on her door.

“Get up and come downstairs,” Natasha called. “I’m about to leave.”

Jesse buried her face in the pillow with a groan. Natasha leaving? Already? Jesse propped herself up on her elbow, blinking blearily. The curtains weren’t thick enough to block out all the light. The brightness peeping around their edges made Jesse blink. She stumbled to the window and peeked around the edge; her eyes stung from the bright midday sun. The curtain fell back in place the second she stepped back, blinking furiously. How long had she been asleep?

Her blue dress was more wrinkled than ever. She was growing to hate the sight of it. The bloodstain, the wrinkles, the memories… This was the dress she’d been wearing when Current Relief came after her. When she’d been stuck in the hospital, afraid of every footstep. When she’d been sitting on Bucky’s bed, his forehead against hers and his breath on her lips.

No, dammit, none of that.

Jesse shoved the thought of Bucky aside as she yanked her dress over her head and tossed it aside. Would it be wrong to just ball the damn thing up and throw it away?

Maybe not, but she had no idea when she’d get replacement clothes. For now, all she had apart from a few changes of underwear was the blue dress, the leggings she was peeling off, a single maroon shirt, and a pair of jeans.

Jeans and maroon shirt it was.

In another minute, she was heading downstairs with a hand pressed tight against the wall for support. Natasha was in the living room, talking with a man with dark hair graying at the temples. Despite his hair, he looked no older than forty.

As soon as Jesse came into view, Natasha stopped talking to the stranger and turned to Jesse. “Jesse, this is Agent Rensselaer. Richard. He’ll be here for the next week.”

“Um, hi.” Jesse’s hand twitched forward, but Richard’s hands were buried in his pockets. He regarded her with a tilted head and a serious expression.

“I’m sorry for what happened to you,” he said. “Hopefully we can get you home before too long.”

“Thanks.” Jesse stuffed her own hands in her back pockets.

Richard nodded once and turned back to Natasha. “Anything else, Agent Romanoff?”

“No, thank you.” Natasha zipped up her jacket and pulled her hair free from the collar. “Well, Jesse, it’s been grand. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

Jesse smiled tightly. Natasha grabbed a black duffel bag from the couch and swung it over her shoulder as she headed towards Jesse and the door. Jesse opened her mouth, but she couldn’t think of anything worth saying. Natasha didn’t want to hear _please stay,_ that much was obvious. Everything else seemed unnecessary.

But Natasha stopped inches away and wrapped her free arm around Jesse’s shoulders. “Chin up, Jesse,” she murmured.

A tear eked its way out of Jesse’s eye. “Thanks,” she whispered.

Natasha let go and stalked away, the rustling of her clothes and the sound of the door opening and closing the only indication of her progress. Once the door shut, Jesse let out a huff and turned to Richard, who took one look at Jesse’s face and gave a smile that bordered on a grimace.

“Well, let me know if you need anything,” he said. He turned on his heel and took up residence in the kitchen.

Jesse stood alone in the living room. She spun on her heel and ran upstairs. Not until her door was closed and locked did she fling herself back onto her bed and let her tears overwhelm her. This was punishment, she was sure of it. Alone with a man she didn’t know, a stranger who had no interest in getting to know her…

Oh, why couldn’t she have just stayed with Bucky?

Jesse buried her head in her pillow and let herself cry. In the solitude of her room, no one was going to stop her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp :S Sorry for the lack of Bucky, but he'll be back. After all, everything circles back to him ;-)
> 
> And yes, Natasha's friend who "lives on a farm with a tractor" is Clint. We love Clint in this house!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think :3


	16. "Solitude" (reprise)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m heading out. Barnes and Romanoff are taking over. I’ll be back tomorrow night.”
> 
> Richard bounded down the stairs, the rhythm clashing with the slow jazz piping out of Jesse’s headphones.
> 
> Barnes and Romanoff? Did that mean—was _Bucky_ here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for this chapter is “Solitude” by Louis Armstrong & Duke Ellington on _The Great Reunion_.

> **_Break-in at Queens Electrotherapy Company_ **
> 
> _A police report was filed by Current Relief, Inc. of an unauthorized break-in early last Friday morning at their Long Island City facility, which houses an overnight clinic in addition to their outpatient offices. Current Relief, Inc. is offering a reward for any information about the break-in. Police urge anyone who might have seen or heard something to come forward._

 

—

 

Even after a week, Jesse hated the five steps from the bathroom to her bedroom after a shower. Growing up in a one-bath apartment with her parents, spending as little time in the bathroom as possible was drilled into her far too much for her to change habits now. So now she had to scamper to her room with her hair in a dripping twist and her body wrapped tight in a scratchy towel.

Considering how nice this whole place was, she thought sourly, they could have invested in better linens.

Once she made it to her room, she locked the door and double-checked it before drying herself more thoroughly. Richard’s room was on the same floor. He’d expressed zero interest of any kind in her over the last week, but she still felt better knowing her door was locked. At home, she didn’t worry so much—it was just Fran—but Richard was still, essentially, a stranger. Natasha hadn’t been kidding when she’d said he was unsociable. He’d only eaten a handful of meals with her, and they hadn’t spoken more than a dozen words at a time.

Not like they had anything in common to talk about.

Jesse flipped her head over to scrub the towel through her hair. What to wear? Was it worth putting on pants when it was already after dinner?

No, not really.

Jesse lay down in just underwear, bra, and t-shirt with the SHIELD laptop Richard had requisitioned for her against her bent knees and headphones piping gentle jazz. She’d been able to contact BCEI. Richard had grudgingly let her talk to Marilyn on the phone.

“Here we were worried about Bucky dropping us like a hot potato. We should’ve had you sign a contract too!” Marilyn had joked.

Hilarious.

Marilyn and Robin had arranged for some work to be sent over, but it was far from Jesse’s usual workload. Robin mentioned a temp; Jesse tried not to think about being replaced. Was she even worth all the trouble? Isolated and lonely as she was, she sure didn’t feel like it.

Right now, there was nothing for her to do. Jesse browsed the internet for news of Current Relief, but nothing more concrete had emerged since the little brief the week before. The news was just full of the usual—the upcoming hurricane season, sports, stocks. Jesse closed the browser window with a huff.

What was taking them so long? Had Current Relief been shut down or not? She bit her lip and glanced at the door. Richard had said this computer was secure—was it secure enough to survive a visit to Current Relief’s website?

Well, it had better be.

According to their website, Current Relief was still up and running. There was no indication that anything had changed; there was even an inquiry process available for prospective patients. Jesse wasn’t quite crazy enough to pen a fake inquiry, but it was a close call. She closed the browser tab and sighed.

She hated knowing nothing.

The music, at least, was soothing. Thank god for internet playlists. She hadn’t been dancing in what, nearly three weeks?

Three weeks felt like a lifetime ago. The last time she hadn’t been dancing in that long was before she’d been a dancer at all. And now, with all the rest of it…

A lifetime indeed.

Jesse exhaled slowly and spread her arms out. She tried to meditate, to draw all feeling out of her extremities until none of her was left to feel. But as she pulled the sensations from her legs, a knock came at her door.

“Jesse?”

She groaned and propped herself up on her elbows, pulling the headphones down around her neck. Richard somehow always found a way to disturb her. “What?”

“I’m heading out. Barnes and Romanoff are taking over. I’ll be back tomorrow night.”

Richard bounded down the stairs, the rhythm clashing with the slow jazz piping out of Jesse’s headphones.

Barnes and Romanoff? Did that mean—was _Bucky_ here?

Jesse’s breath came fast as she tossed the headphones away and scrambled for her jeans. She tugged them on over her socks, hopping on either foot as she maneuvered over to the dresser. Her hands trembled; it took two tries to pull up the zipper, three to fasten the button. She bent to look at her face in the mirror and pinched a little color into her cheeks, then shook out her damp hair across her shoulders. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and unlocked her door.

When she opened it, Bucky was standing there—right there!—with his hand up and poised to knock. They both froze.

“Hey,” he said at last. He dropped his hand to his side and stuffed it in his pocket.

“Hey,” she replied. Her heartbeat pulsed quick in her ears.

Bucky stared at her, his eyes roaming over her face. He jerked his chin up and gestured to her forehead. “That’s healing well.”

“What are you doing here?” she blurted. He blinked, and she quickly added, “I mean… I didn’t think—”

“Nat brought me along.” Bucky shifted his weight. “She’s downstairs.”

“Oh.”

Jesse didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t seen Bucky in a week, and in that time she’d had such thoughts festering in her head that she could barely remember what a normal conversation might look like. All she could think of was the warmth of his arm around her, the gentleness of his eyes, the sweetness of his soft smile.

But those thoughts were out of place. Here in this heartless house, built for secrets, there was no room for the truth. And Bucky looked as uncertain as herself.

“Well, shall we?” Jesse said at last. She stepped into the hall, pulling her door shut behind her, and headed downstairs. Bucky followed, his footsteps light despite his usual combat boots.

“Was that jazz you were listening to?” he asked.

“Yeah, I missed it.”

Before either of them could say anything more, Jesse caught sight of Natasha in the living room, her feet on the coffee table, scrolling through her phone.

“I was about to come get you,” Natasha said, though nothing about her appearance gave the impression of impending motion. She looked glued to her seat and her phone.

Jesse slid onto the other end of the couch. “Sorry.”

“Oh, please. It’s Barnes who’s to blame.”

“Sure,” Bucky said. He sat on the edge of the recliner across from Jesse and gave her a private, amused look. Her face warmed as she tried to keep her face composed. God forbid Natasha Romanoff think she was being laughed at.

“Well, none of us would need to be here if it wasn’t for you,” Natasha said. “So all of this is _entirely_ your fault.”

Jesse’s eyebrows flew up as Bucky’s face dropped. “If we’re tracing our steps, I think we can blame the cat my coworker tripped over,” she injected. “And maybe the Stark Foundation, for hosting a gala instead of just giving their money away.”

“Hm.” Natasha narrowed her eyes, still staring at her phone. Jesse itched to look, but common sense screamed at her to suppress her curious instincts. She succeeded only by scrunching further into the corner of the couch.

“What do you think, Bucky?” Natasha asked. “Whose fault is all this _really?_ ”

“I usually blame Steve for this type of thing,” Bucky said, looking his usual self again. “But that doesn’t quite apply here.”

“Eh, why not. Let’s blame Steve.” Natasha pulled a water bottle up and raised it in a sardonic toast before chugging it, finally glancing sideways at Jesse.

Jesse swallowed.

“So.” Natasha set down her water and her phone and turned her full attention on Bucky. “You left out some interesting details in your initial report, Barnes.”

“Did I.” Bucky sat back and propped an ankle on his other knee. He drummed his fingers on his thigh, an anxious tic that contrasted with his nonchalant expression. “I think you should change the topic.”

Natasha glanced at Jesse again and blinked. “Well, you’re no fun.”

Jesse let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and unclenched her hands from around her ankles. The rushing blood in her ears receded slowly. “Sorry,” she muttered, eyes downcast.

Why was she so on edge? It was just Bucky and Natasha. She knew them both. Natasha had helped her despite knowing nothing about her; Bucky had done everything for her despite knowing her all too well. She had nothing to be afraid of.

And yet.

“What jazz were you listening to upstairs?” Natasha asked, phone in hand.

“Um.” Jesse frowned. “Duke Ellington, I think.”

Before she even finished speaking, soft music began piping out of Natasha’s phone. Jesse’s lips parted. Her heartbeat quickened as the melody sank in.

“This is that song!” She turned to Bucky, excitement radiating out into her trembling fingers. His face was frozen as he stared at Natasha’s phone. “They played this—”

“At Stark’s benefit,” he finished. His eyes locked on hers.

Jesse clenched her hands together and stared back at him, her heart suddenly so full the feeling choked her into silence. There was no escaping the intensity in his blue eyes, and no part of her wanted to.

Did he know what he was doing to her?

“Is this your first song?” Natasha drawled.

Heat flooded Jesse’s face; she tore her eyes from Bucky. Natasha was looking between them with a smirk that spoke volumes.

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “If you wanna call it that.”

There was a strange tenor to his voice that made Jesse afraid to look his way. It sounded like he was being half-choked, half-restrained. But he was alone on his side of the coffee table. What was wrong with him? Was it her?

“Well, it’s pretty slow.” Natasha looked back to her phone, her lips still quirked up knowingly, and switched to a more upbeat song. “Show me what you got, kiddo.”

“What, you want me to dance?” Jesse asked, confused.

“Yeah. Bucky says you’re good. And maybe it’ll loosen you up a bit.” Natasha leaned over and poked Jesse’s shoulder. “You’re wound up tighter than a ball of string.”

Jesse laughed weakly. She could see where Natasha was going, and she didn’t like it one bit. Natasha was trying to get her to dance with Bucky. Why, Jesse didn’t know. But she did know she wouldn’t be able to handle it. Not when Bucky’s voice had broken at the thought of their first dance, not when his eyes alone had sent her heart into palpitations, not when she was aching with the desire to confess.

But she couldn’t. She was too much a coward. How could she confess when she knew, she _knew,_ that it would only make him push her away? He was happy to be her friend. If she pushed for more, she’d be making him miserable.

Fortunately, she had a workaround.

“Alright,” she said. She stood up and held out her left hand to Natasha. “I’ll show you.”

Natasha blinked up at Jesse with eyebrows raised. “Really.” She looked pointedly towards Bucky, but Jesse didn’t take the bait.

“You asked for it,” she pointed out. “Come on, I know how to lead, too.”

“She does,” Bucky piped up. Jesse glanced at him with a grateful smile, but his eyes were on his clasped hands.

“Alright,” Natasha said dubiously. She rose to her feet and took Jesse’s offered hand. “Lead on, I guess.”

Jesse slid her right arm around Natasha and placed her hand flat on her shoulder blade. She bit her lip and started dancing, careful to angle herself so Bucky was out of sight.

Natasha clearly hadn’t done much swing dancing, if any, but when Jesse tried a spin half a minute in, Natasha followed through with more fluid grace than any human had a right to. She dropped Jesse’s hand and stepped back with a nod.

“Not bad,” she said. “If you’re looking for turbulence.”

Jesse rolled her eyes, still lightly bouncing along to the music. “It’s called pulsing,” she said, but she couldn’t help her smile. ‘Not bad’ was more than she’d been expecting from the Black Widow.

“Alright, Bucky, show me how it’s supposed to look.”

Jesse gaped at Natasha. Did the woman have no shame? Couldn’t she tell Bucky had no interest in dancing with her?

But out of the corner of her eye, Jesse saw Bucky raise himself up from the armchair. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as he came up behind her. Her breath quickened, and she rubbed her hands on her jeans, nerves overwhelming her.

“You okay?” he murmured.

“Yeah! Yeah,” Jesse blurted. She turned to look up at him. His eyes were dark and guarded, but he held out his metal hand with the same ease as ever. Still, she hesitated. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Mind?” He shook his head, smiling at last. Jesse slipped her hand in his, unable to help her racing heart. “No. I do not mind.”

A new song, one Jesse didn’t recognize, began to play. Bucky drew her close and spread his broad hand on her back. She squeezed shut her eyes and tried to relax, but her arm draped over his quivered with—she didn’t know. All she knew was that within seconds, tears were running down her face. She scampered back out of his arms and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes.

“I—I’m sorry,” she stammered, blind to everything but painfully aware of Bucky’s silence, Bucky’s distance.

“No, this is on me. Bucky, I’m going to bed before I make you cry too,” Natasha said. Her light footsteps retreated upstairs, but the music kept playing from the arm of the couch.

“C’mere,” Bucky murmured at last. He gently drew Jesse against his chest, one arm on her back, the other hand cradling her neck. “It’s okay, Jesse.”

She lowered her hands from her eyes and listened to his quick and steady heartbeat. As her shudders subsided, she realized she’d matched her breathing with his. It was practically turning into a habit. But she couldn’t help it. He was so close, so real, so _present,_ with those arms around her and his chin on her head. He grounded her better than anything else. Right now, her misery was nothing to the intoxication of being in his presence.

“Talk to me?” Bucky asked quietly.

“About what?”

“What’s going on in that head of yours.”

“Oh.” Jesse furrowed her brow. What could she say? “I’m glad you’re here?” she tried.

Bucky chuckled; his chest rumbled under her cheek. “I dunno,” he said. “You weren’t crying before.”

Jesse wriggled out from his grip and held him at arm’s length. “Bucky. I’m not—I wasn’t crying because you’re here.” She stared up at him and tried to put her muddled thoughts into words. “I’m just… so much has changed. And I feel like—it’s been so long since we danced. Since _I_ danced. At all! And I don’t know when I’ll be able to do it again. And that… that’s just about my whole life right now. Not to mention whatever kind of trauma recovery I’ll have to deal with when all this is over.” Jesse blinked back a fresh wave of tears. She let go of Bucky’s arms and wiped her eyes with a shaky smile. “I guess I’m just sad for lost time.”

“I know the feeling,” he muttered. He tucked his hair behind his ear and pulled her down onto the couch. He slung his heavy metal arm around her and fiddled with Natasha’s phone with his free hand. “It won’t be forever.”

Bucky cycled back through the songs Natasha had played until he reached their first song, as Natasha had called it. Jesse leaned forward to look at the title. _Solitude._ She hadn’t known before. Within fifteen seconds, Louis Armstrong’s gravelly voice began to sing. Jesse’s eyes slid shut; she moved her fingers along to the music, remembering more clearly than ever how wonderful that first dance had been. What would it be like to dance with him now, to this? Back then, they’d been strangers.

Now… they weren’t.

Did she dare risk it? She glanced up at Bucky under her eyelashes, and swallowed quick when she saw how intently he was looking at her.

“Would you like to dance?” Bucky murmured.

Jesse nodded, unable to look away. She knew she’d have to stand up, but she was frozen in place by the power of his eyes alone. Not until he nudged her up with his metal hand did she manage to clamber to her feet alongside him.

Bucky led her to the more open space at the side of the room. He paused a foot away from her, his hand still clasped on hers.

“You’re okay?” he checked.

What a question. Jesse nodded sharply and then she was swept up in his arms, her head against his shoulder and her arm draped over his. His hand was warm against her shoulder blade. Her chest pressed against his. The pressure was just enough to be delicious. They barely moved, yet it was enough. Bucky leaned his head against the top of hers, his low humming reverberating through her down to her bones. He held their clasped hands against his shoulder; when she turned her head, her breath formed a little cloud on his metal hand.

She’d never felt so close to anyone in her whole life.

How was it that after just a few scant weeks, he knew her better than anyone else? All the people she’d considered friends—Adrian, Fran, Zach from programming, anyone from dancing—were strangers in comparison. They only knew part of her. But Bucky had unlocked all her secrets, all her fears.

Except one.

And here they were, dancing so close that they might as well be a single person.

Could he feel it, too?

Jesse pulled back just enough to see Bucky’s face. He met her eyes, his lips just barely parted, and then he smiled so sweetly she nearly melted all over again.

“Better?” he murmured.

“Better,” she said.

He tugged her back against him with a contented huff. “Good.”

They stayed like that, barely moving and perfectly in sync, until at last Jesse realized the song had ended and the only sound in the room was their matched breathing. Her heart dropped. Bucky stilled as soon as she did, and with great reluctance she stepped back. She couldn’t stay in his arms forever, no matter how much she wanted to. Instead, she looked up and forced a smile. But her thanks died in her throat.

Bucky’s dark eyes were fixed on her like a brand. His pale, beautiful face was like marble save for the flush in his cheeks. Jesse swallowed thickly. Her hands inched towards him of their own accord. Bucky curled his hand around her upper arm and leaned towards her, his eyes dropping at last to her lips.

Natasha’s phone buzzed harshly on the couch. Jesse started and spun towards the noise. Bucky’s hand dropped from her arm, and he swore under his breath. He shouldered past her and scooped up the phone, face pinched. Jesse spun to stare, speechless, as he stalked out of the room. He paused, one foot on the stairs, and turned just enough so she could make out the curve of his cheek.

“Sorry,” he said, and then he bounded upstairs out of sight.

Jesse collapsed on the couch, her pulse racing at a gallop. What the hell?

 

—

 

_“You have to let me go,” Jesse declared. “I won’t tell you anything unless you let me go with you.”_

_She was sitting on Bucky’s couch; he loomed behind her. Déja vu washed over her. Was she dreaming?_

_“You are an absolute little shit,” Bucky said. Despite it all, his expression softened from anguish to a sort of aggravated fondness. He vaulted over the back of the couch and in the space of one shocked inhale, he had his arms boxing her in on the couch. His face loomed less than a foot from hers. “You think I couldn’t get it out of you?”_

_Jesse blinked. His mouth was all soft smirk—_ too soft, my god, how soft would they be if I _—_

_“You could, probably,” she murmured. “But do you really want torturing me for information on your conscience?”_

_“Torture wasn’t what I had in mind.”_

_Bucky ducked his head and pressed a kiss behind her ear, tearing a gasp from her. Her hands flew to his sculpted arms, one solid and smooth to the touch, the other just soft enough for her to press indents into his skin. Every nerve hummed as his lips brushed against her skin. He drew back just enough to meet her gaze. His pupils were blown so wide that there was hardly any blue left in his eyes at all._

_“Are you going to tell me, Jesse? Or am I going to have to make you sing?”_

_Jesse shook her head, breathless. “I’ll never tell,” she whispered. Bucky’s smirk deepened, and she trembled. He nudged a knee between her legs and climbed onto the couch until he was half in her lap. Could he hear her heartbeat?_

_“We’ll see about that.”_

_Bucky’s lips descended on hers with a vengeance. He kissed her deep; his mouth was burning hot against her own. His soft hair brushed against her cheek like feathers. She tried to kiss him back, but he nipped at her lips and pulled back with a teasing smile._

_“Careful there,” he teased. He pressed his knee forward until it was pressed tight against the juncture of her thighs; a strangled cry escaped her as he ground it against her mercilessly. Her head fell back as sharp pleasure radiated through her._

_Bucky sucked in a ragged breath and bent over her again to suck a mark against her throat. He unclenched his metal hand from the back of the couch—the frame actually creaked as he released it—and buried it in her hair, her own hand still wrapped around his forearm. He tilted her face back to his and spoke right against her lips. “Sing for me, sweetheart,” he breathed._

_Her eyes fluttered closed as he kissed her again. The next thing she knew, she was in his bed, his eyes darker than ever as he gazed up at her from between her legs and peeled her jeans away. He pressed a kiss to her thigh, his stubble scraping against sensitive skin. She quivered under his touch. She couldn’t look away._

_“You’re so damn beautiful.”_

_Jesse shook her head, mute. Couldn’t he see he was the beautiful one? She kicked her jeans aside and sat up just enough to pull him up her body until she could kiss him again. His lips were scorching; his flesh and bones hand radiated heat as it slid under her shirt, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. He palmed her breast, then circled his thumb around her nipple. The sparks went straight between her legs with a helpless whimper. She arched her back and wrapped a leg around his, desperate to bring him closer._

_Bucky pulled back from the kiss to bury his face in her neck. He settled his hand against her stuttering heart._

_“God, Jesse,” he groaned, voice rasping over her name. “You’ll be the death of me.”_

 

—

 

Consciousness broke over Jesse like a tidal wave. She sat up, gasping, and pressed both hands to her mouth to stifle her quick breathing. Her body was on fire. Sweat beaded between her breasts, and heat flared deep in her belly.

What the hell was _that?_

She’d never dreamt anything like that. Not once in her whole life. Sure, she’d had daydreams, but those were made up consciously. On _purpose._ This dream had been so out of the ordinary that she could barely comprehend that a part of her own brain had even come up with it.

Then she remembered.

Bucky had been about to kiss her last night—there was no other explanation. But he’d never reappeared. She’d waited on the couch for almost an hour before giving up, retreating to her room. Even then, she’d been at a heartbreaking loss. Why had he vanished? Why hadn’t he come _back?_ Did he hate her so much?

She wished she knew what had gone through his head.

Maybe something major had happened. Current Relief was still out there, doing things… Perhaps Natasha had gotten some new intel. But no one had left. Jesse hadn’t heard anyone leave, and if it had been truly urgent, one or both would have left right away.

Could he be as terrified as she was?

Jesse’s eyes widened. She stared at her door, hands still clapped over her mouth. Could Bucky really be as much of a coward as her? Was he as afraid to lose her friendship as she was his?

It seemed laughable. Who was she? She was no one. Jesse Kaplan was a name known only to the few who knew her. Her family, her few friends, her colleagues. Bucky Barnes was a household name across America. He was a superhero, a veteran, a minor celebrity. He was someone worthy of attention. She was… she was nobody.

But he liked her. He’d said so himself. _“I like you as you are.”_ It wasn’t a lie—he wouldn’t lie about that. All his actions proved it. After everything he’d done with her, for her, she had no doubts. And sure, she was normal, but… wasn’t falling in love normal, too?

If she’d fallen for him, could he have fallen for her too?

Jesse dragged her hands down her neck until they were splayed against her chest. Her heartbeat had calmed down, and with it her thoughts. Bucky wanted something normal. He’d practically begged for it. Last night she’d tried to act normal, but it had failed spectacularly. With her feelings hanging over her head, she was a mess around him. It wasn’t fair to him.

Telling the truth?

Talking was normal. Trusting him—that was normal too.

A laugh bubbled out of her as she scrambled out of bed. Why had she thought that lying was a good idea? She peeled off her sweat-drenched underwear and nightshirt and threw them in the pile of dirty clothes in the corner. All her clean clothes were SHIELD hand-me-downs. But laundry could wait. Jesse pulled on the too-tight t-shirt and low-slung sweatpants, then braided her hair back. A quick glance in the mirror gave her pause. She’d looked so miserable the last week that seeing a smile on her face was almost unfamiliar. But she looked good. She looked _happy._

And she really was, if the warmth blooming in her chest was anything to go by.

This time, she vowed, neither of them were going to run away.

When Jesse opened her door, she heard the noise of the television downstairs. She took one step towards the stairs and then paused. The tv was on, but Natasha was talking. Jesse strained to hear.

“That girl worships the ground you walk on,” Natasha said.

Jesse tilted her head to the side, curious.

“Aside from the fact that you’re wrong, she’s barely five years younger than you, _kid_.”

That was Bucky’s voice. Jesse froze.

“Seven years,” Natasha corrected. “And I am not wrong, Barnes.”

Jesse’s heart beat like a snare drum. She was sure they could hear it, but no one came looking for her. They were talking about _her!_

Bucky finally responded, his voice so low that Jesse could barely make it out over the hum of the television. “Come on, Nat. She’s been through the ringer. It’s not like that.”

“Really?” Natasha snorted. “What was last night then, huh?”

“She’s just… Wait, what do you mean?”

“You _know_ the common space is surveilled. Or did you forget?”

“Fuck. Maybe. But dammit, Nat, let it go,” Bucky growled. “Like I said. It’s not like that. She’d be stupid to—she’d be stupid if she did. We’re just magnets for bullshit. Bullshit and trouble.”

“By your logic, none of us have any right to be happy at all.”

“We don’t have the right to ruin more lives,” he said sharply. “If I got carried away, that’s not her fault. She’s gone through enough. She’s not dumb enough to sign up for more.”

“Right,” Natasha said, dripping sarcasm. “Because she’s so smart. And smart people never have feelings.”

Silence fell for a moment; Jesse tried to not breathe.

“Were you this annoying to Steve?” Bucky asked.

“Oh yeah, constantly. He took it better than you do.”

“Really.”

“You know what he said? He wanted someone with shared life experiences.” Natasha chuckled. “If that’s what _you’re_ after… seems to me Jesse has a head start on anyone else I know. It’s been a long time since _I’ve_ been strapped to a chair I didn’t mean to get strapped into.”

Bucky snorted.

“Seriously, Bucky,” Natasha said. “You could be—”

“No,” he cut in. “No. I fucked up last night, that’s all. That’s all. I fucked up, I regret it, and that’s all.”

“Fine, yikes,” Natasha said. “Okay.”

No, Jesse thought dimly. Not okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahahaha. Hah. Haha. Sorry?!?!
> 
> ANYWAY I really do like this chapter, ending aside… Lots going on! More Bucky! More feelings~! One of my favorite lines (”It’s been a long time since _I’ve_ been strapped to a chair,” thank you Natasha XD)! And a refrain to their first dance, which… ahhhhh! If only it hadn’t ended T.T
> 
> Let me know what you think, even if it is just to throw rotten tomatoes at me XD XD XD Thanks for reading! xoxo


	17. "Ces Petites Choses"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha stood alone, her face tight as she frowned at the front door. She tilted her head and dragged her eyes to Jesse.
> 
> “Sorry, you just missed him.”
> 
> Jesse blinked. She sat heavily on the stairs, the shock jarring her bones all the way up to her teeth.
> 
> “He left?” she said dimly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for this chapter is “Ces Petites Choses” by Jean Sablon from _Anthologie (1932-1948)_. Hope you enjoy!

_“I fucked up last night, that’s all. That’s all. I fucked up, I regret it, and that’s all.”_

Tears clouded Jesse’s vision. She stumbled blindly back to her room and shut the door as quietly as she could. Her bed welcomed her back with open arms.

Jesse sobbed into her pillow, her whole body aching. The SHIELD shirt twisted uncomfortably around her chest. She yanked the shirt off with a cry and threw it across the room before collapsing back into a ball.

How could she have been so wrong?

She’d had five glorious minutes of hope. Surely after everything he would’ve been happy to know she loved him. Wasn’t love the most normal thing in the world? Wasn’t being happy worth dealing with a little awkwardness? No, he’d crushed her dreams as easily as he might a bug under his boot. Five minutes. Five minutes of warmth in her chest, and now she was worse off than ever. Before, even if she’d been too afraid, there had still been still some secret strain of hope. Now even that was gone.

Jesse wrapped her arms around herself. She tried to suppress her lingering hiccups and tears. Over the week she’d spent at the safehouse, Bucky had seemed further and further away with every passing day. Then he’d come back, and oh, how wonderful it had been, but now…

Bucky was lost to her.

It shouldn’t have hurt so much. Hadn’t she been preparing herself for this the whole time? Since almost the beginning, she’d been conscious of thinking more of him than he did of her.

Jesse had said goodbye to Bucky plenty of times. She’d not grown used to it—whenever he left, her heart wrenched—but she knew what to expect. And she knew she could survive it. But this time was different. He might not have known she was listening, but then again, who knew? He was a supersoldier. Maybe he _did_ hear her. Maybe he’d known she was listening, and he’d decided to let her know his feelings in a way where she could save face. He’d never been cruel before. Why start now?

Before she’d heard what he’d said to Natasha, she’d wished she’d known what was going through his head. Now she just wanted to forget everything. If there was ever a time to get drunk, it was now. But raiding the cabinets for the single bottle of whiskey would require going downstairs, leaving her room, facing them both…

No.

She’d stay here, where she could protect herself with a locked door, a steady stream of tissues, and a welcoming bed. For whatever reason, Bucky had shut the door on her for the last time.

He’d done enough damage. Time to shut herself off to him once and for all.

 

—

 

“Jesse?” Natasha called.

Jesse sighed. It was nearly ten o’clock now, two hours since her aborted confession. “What?”

“Bucky’s leaving. Come say bye.”

Jesse’s heart plummeted. _What the hell, Natasha?_ If Bucky was leaving, he could damn well come up and say goodbye himself. But Jesse was more afraid of the Black Widow than she was obstinate. So she dragged herself out of bed and found the too-small t-shirt.

Maybe this here could really be a final farewell. After what he’d said this morning, after he hadn’t come back to her, Bucky couldn’t think of returning to the safehouse. It wouldn’t make sense. If he regretted what he’d done last night, why would he put himself in that position yet again?

No, Jesse decided. He wouldn’t. She tugged the shirt down over her head and wriggled her arms through. This was her chance to say goodbye on her own terms.

She looked herself over in the mirror. Her eyes were a little bloodshot, but she didn’t think it was obvious she’d been crying. If they hadn’t heard her, they might not know. Jesse tried to recreate that happy smile of before, but it was beyond her reach. She managed something that looked close to content, at least.

Jesse stepped out of her room and pulled her door shut. The moment the latch clicked, a slam echoed from downstairs. She froze, then hurtled down the stairs with wide eyes.

Natasha stood alone, her face tight as she frowned at the front door. She tilted her head and dragged her eyes to Jesse.

“Sorry, you just missed him.”

Jesse blinked. She sat heavily on the stairs, the shock jarring her bones all the way up to her teeth.

“He left?” she said dimly.

Natasha winced. That was answer enough.

“He _left_.” Jesse opened her mouth, then closed it. Her throat itched. She swallowed back tears and rage. An ache spread through her tightening chest.

She’d come down to say goodbye on _her_ terms! How could he have left? After everything he’d said, she’d assumed he’d want to say goodbye. Fine, last night was a fluke—but didn’t he care about her? Caring about her was his entire argument. So why would he have abandoned her like this? Her hands shook; she curled them into fists and ground them into her knees. She hadn’t been this angry since Bucky had chastised her for being sympathetic to Mike at Current Relief.

Back then, she’d had Bucky right in front of her. Right now, the only person in reach was Natasha.

Jesse flicked her burning eyes back up from the closed front door to the Black Widow. Natasha was leaning against the doorframe to the living room, her hands stuffed in the pockets of her zip-up hoodie. She was watching Jesse with a guarded expression, and she spoke before Jesse had a chance.

“I’m so sorry,” Natasha said.

Jesse opened her mouth, then closed it. She dropped her head into her hands with a whimper. How could she take out her anger on someone who felt bad?

“Why would he leave? Does he hate me so damn much?” Tears began to pool in her eyes. “I know—I know he thinks he fucked up last night, but for god’s sake, we were _friends!_ ”

“What do you mean?” Natasha asked.

“I heard you two,” Jesse mumbled. She sniffed and wiped her eyes. “This morning. I heard what he said. That I’m stupid.” She let out a humorless laugh and dug her fingernails into her palms. “Trust me, I feel it now.”

Natasha let out a breath between her teeth. “Ah.”

Jesse sniffed again. “Yeah. _Ah_.” She scooted over to lean her head against the stairwell wall. “I don’t blame you, in case you were wondering,” she added. She stared past Natasha at a vague spot on the far wall. “You know, I was going to just… confess. I was happy for like, five whole minutes. I thought he’d—well, nevermind. I didn’t even get to say _goodbye!_ ”

“Jesse, I really am sorry.”

Natasha’s voice was unusually gentle. Jesse had never heard her be so genuinely apologetic. It was enough to channel her out of her fog.

“Yeah, me too.”

Jesse stood up and headed back upstairs. Natasha didn’t stop her.

 

—

 

It was almost dinnertime by the time Jesse ventured downstairs, forced out of her room by her grumbling stomach. Natasha was working on a large laptop at the kitchen table with her back to the wall. She closed the computer halfway when Jesse came in.

“How are you doing?” she asked.

Jesse shrugged. “I’m alive, aren’t I?” She didn’t want to talk about it. She’d cried on and off all day. Enough was enough, at least until after she’d eaten. The only quick food she could find was spaghetti. She filled the electric kettle and pulled out a pot before she thought to include the other person in the room. “Did you want some pasta?”

“Sure,” Natasha said. “Thanks.”

As Jesse puttered about getting dinner ready, Natasha made increasingly aggravated noises at her computer until Jesse had to roll her eyes and ask, “What?”

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Natasha said. She narrowed her eyes at Jesse, then shrugged. “What the hell, you’re the one this is all about. I can’t tell who was responsible for getting you on the list at Current Relief.”

Jesse paused, wooden spoon clutched tight in her fist. It had been over a week since anyone had spoken to her about her abduction. Richard hadn’t mentioned it—had he known anything about it at all? Impossible to tell. But Natasha… Natasha knew it all.

Except, apparently, _who the hell had done it._

“Are you serious? Aren’t you supposed to be brilliant?” Jesse blurted.

Natasha’s typing stopped abruptly. Jesse froze as she realized just what she’d said. Who she’d said it _to._ Was she about to die in a safehouse?

The Black Widow giggled. “You’re a riot, Jesse.”

Jesse sagged against the counter next to the stove. “For a second I thought you’d murder me.”

“Bucky’s already shot me twice,” Natasha said. “I don’t care for it to happen again.”

Jesse didn’t answer that. After a moment Natasha winced.

“Shit, I’m sorry. That—”

“Forget it,” Jesse interrupted. She turned off the stove and drained the pasta. The steam billowed up from the sink and clung to her face. Jesse willed herself not to cry, not to react at all. She mixed in some butter and garlic, then plated up the spaghetti. She sat down and shoved Natasha’s plate over to her. “Here. All done.”

Natasha didn’t try to finish her apology. Jesse could feel Natasha’s eyes on her as they ate, but she stared resolutely at her food until Natasha twisted her computer around.

“Here,” Natasha said, forcing Jesse’s eyes up. “What do you think?”

Jesse swallowed and squinted at the crowded spreadsheets. “What even is it?”

“Timesheets. Analyses of computer usage. And there was no one logged into a computer at time you were added onto the list.”

Jesse looked at the spreadsheet of computer logs. Each computer was tagged with a room. She identified a few computer labs with six or ten stations, but there was a suspicious absence.

“What about the server rom?”

“What do you mean?” Natasha leapt to her feet and was at Jesse’s side in an instant. Jesse blinked; she’d never seen Natasha move so fast.

“Um, there’s a computer in the server room.”

Natasha pulled the computer in front of her and switched to a series of video feeds. She blew one up bigger than the others—there was the server room, narrow and dim and full of blinking lights.

And one computer station by the door.

“So there is,” Natasha murmured. “Interesting. Thank you.”

She picked up the laptop and left the room, her dinner abandoned. Jesse twirled her fork through her spaghetti and propped her cheek on her hand as she stared into space.

Seven minutes later, Natasha came back. Jesse twisted her head to watch her come in, but Natasha had stopped in the doorway, her expression severe. Jesse’s stomach twisted.

“What?” she asked.

“I need you to confirm something,” Natasha said, voice low and angry. Jesse shrank in her chair, but nodded. Natasha slammed the laptop in front of Jesse. The black and white feeds of the server room and its hallway were side by side. Both were marked 1:24 AM.

Natasha hit play.

A tall thin man with a baseball hat and a dark jacket rounded the far corner and hurried down the hallway, brim blocking any view of his face. He shoved open the door to the server room—Jesse looked at the other feed—and ducked inside, folding himself into the chair at the computer terminal. All Jesse could see of him was his back and the pale skin of his neck. Her hands trembled.

“This is when you were added,” Natasha said. Her tone was gentler now, soft and soothing, but Jesse shook her head to shut her up. She knew exactly what this was.

The man in the video sat with his shoulders were hunched up nearly to his ears as he worked. His body blocked the screen, but Jesse could imagine it well enough. After three minutes, at 1:28 AM, he stood up and rushed out of the room and back away down the hallway.

The most Jesse had seen was a sliver of the man’s cheek, but with everything else it was enough. She shook her head, tongue like lead in her mouth.

“Do you know him?” Natasha asked.

“I…”

“Do you know?” Natasha pressed.

Jesse clutched the edge of the table. Her knuckles were white and the tips of her fingers red from the tightness of her grip. She nodded and cleared her throat. “That’s _Mike_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Let me know what you think :3


	18. "Melancholy Serenade"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey.”
> 
> Jesse jerked in her seat at the sound of Richard’s voice. He walked by and sat on the couch, setting a glass of water on the coffee table for her.
> 
> “Hi?”
> 
> Jesse took the water and eyed him warily. Richard hadn’t spoken to her since he’d arrived. He’d gone straight upstairs, and now he was back, and he wanted to talk to her? She didn’t know what to think.
> 
> “So. You and Barnes, huh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for this chapter is “Melancholy Serenade” by Adrian Cunningham from _Professor Cunningham And His Old School: Swing It Out!_ Hope you enjoy!

“So let me get this straight,” Natasha said. She ran a hand through her hair and leaned back in her chair. “Mike drops all kinds of hints about bad things happening around Bucky, he warns you to keep away from him, and then he just… paints a target on you anyway? And _then_ he goes to all the trouble of helping you? Are you sure that’s him?”

“Of course it’s him!” Jesse cried. She stalked around the kitchen table, her hands twisted together. “It doesn’t make any fucking sense, but I swear to god that’s him!”

Natasha crossed her arms as she watched Jesse go by for the third time. “How can you be sure?”

“I’ve danced with the guy hundreds of times,” Jesse snapped. Hundreds of times that she’d put her arm over his, that she’d smiled at him, that she’d _wanted_ to dance with him… She shuddered. The memory of touching him turned her stomach. To think she had comforted him! “Trust me! I know him!”

“But what’s his angle?” Natasha stuck out her arm just as Jesse was about to walk by, halting her in her tracks. Natasha stared up at Jesse, jaw set. “Stop pacing and talk. I can’t go on your word based on how many times you’ve danced. Plenty of people look similar from behind, and you’re no agent.”

Jesse ground her teeth. “What do you mean?”

“You’re a civilian, Jesse,” Natasha deadpanned. “You haven’t been trained to identify people.”

“I know _that_ ,” Jesse growled. “I meant about going on my word! What can you do about all this?”

Natasha frowned up at her. “Mike Fuller is in the custody of the FBI. They’re working out the details of a plea deal.”

Jesse sank straight onto the floor, mouth agape. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“You—“ Jesse bared her teeth. “For fuck’s sake! How much else don’t I know?”

“Plenty, I imagine,” Natasha said coolly. “Calm down, Jesse. Keeping you informed isn’t even something I’m _supposed_ to do.”

“So you use me to answer your tough questions and then I’m not allowed to ask any of my own?”

“This isn’t your mission. Your life is in danger.” Natasha’s lips thinned. “Don’t pretend you’ve forgotten why you’re here.”

Jesse scoffed and popped to her feet. “I’m here because you decided I wasn’t safe enough with the one guy who’s been honest with me from the start!”

“Careful,” Natasha warned. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” Jesse laughed darkly and resumed her pacing. “You squeeze me for all I’m worth, then you leave me in the dark til you come back for more!”

“I’ve told you everything you know.” Natasha stood slowly from her chair. “I’ve told you more than I _should_ , if I’m being honest. Do you seriously expect us to just tell you everything?”

“They _hurt_ me!” Jesse cried. Her eyes stung. Why couldn’t Natasha see? “They took me, they tortured me… Don’t I at least deserve the truth?”

“For Christ’s sake, you aren’t the only one,” Natasha muttered. Louder, before Jesse could respond, she added, “Taking them down is more important than any individual’s feelings. I thought you were smart enough to realize that.” She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. “Once they’re all locked away, we can talk. Okay?”

Jesse’s lip quivered. She turned away and dug her teeth into her lower lip until the skin broke. The coppery tang of blood flooded her mouth. She swallowed. There was no point in arguing with Natasha; Natasha was right. What did Jesse matter? Next to the bigger stakes, her fears and feelings were nothing. How could they be otherwise? What was Jesse Kaplan worth in the big picture?

Nothing. Everyone had made that plenty clear.

Natasha didn’t deserve her vitriol. She was only trying to help. Wasn’t Natasha the one who had rescued her from the hospital? And someone had tried to kill her there. If it weren’t for Natasha, Jesse would be dead. And what was the price of the Black Widow saving your life?

Obedience, apparently. Jesse was alive because Natasha had taken her place. How could she argue with that?

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “Yeah. Whatever you say.”

“Good,” Natasha said, sounding surprised. “Thank you.”

Jesse nodded. She took a deep breath and turned back to sit back at the table, her eyes on the floor.

“What now?” Jesse asked quietly.

“Now we wait for Richard to get back.” Natasha hummed, pleased, and sat down across from Jesse. “Meanwhile I can finish my dinner.”

Natasha twirled her fork through her spaghetti. Jesse shrank in her seat. And waited.

 

—

 

Richard came, Natasha went, and Jesse curled up in the same armchair Bucky had sat in the night he’d come back. She stared blankly at the wall.

Natasha had patted Jesse’s shoulder on her way out, but she hadn’t given any parting words like she had at her first departure. No _hang in there_ , no _chin up_. Just a pat on the shoulder.

At least she’d done that much. Bucky hadn’t even said goodbye.

Jesse’s mouth twisted unpleasantly. She pushed herself further into the cushions. Bucky. Where was he? Was he off on a mission? Was he back in his apartment, sitting on his couch or lying in his bed? Futzing around in his kitchen, making a sandwich? Maybe he was on his motorcycle, wind in his hair.

Had he thought about her at all?

Of course not.

He’d left. He’d left without saying goodbye. He’d almost kissed her, he’d realized his mistake, and then he’d run away. After all that, of course he wouldn’t think of her.

She was pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. What was the point in still harping on about him? He’d made his feelings abundantly clear. He didn’t give a crap about her.

And why would he? She wasn’t worth a damn thing.

“Hey.”

Jesse jerked in her seat at the sound of Richard’s voice. He walked by and sat on the couch, setting a glass of water on the coffee table for her.

“Hi?”

Jesse took the water and eyed him warily. Richard hadn’t spoken to her since he’d arrived. He’d gone straight upstairs, and now he was back, and he wanted to talk to her? She didn’t know what to think.

“So. You and Barnes, huh?”

Jesse’s sip of water went straight down her windpipe. She sputtered, eyes stinging and throat burning. Richard hurried over and patted her awkwardly on the back.

“Are you okay?” he asked once she’d quieted.

“What are you talking about?” she blurted.

“I mean, the common space _is_ surveilled,” Richard said. There was laughter in his voice.

Jesse jumped to her feet, her face burning. “What, so you went and watched it all? Got a little show, huh? Well I hope you enjoyed yourself!”

“It’s standard procedure!” Richard blurted, eyes wide. All his amusement had vanished in the face of Jesse’s reaction. “The system flags important incidents so the overseeing agent can—”

“Oh forget it,” Jesse interrupted. She flopped back down and buried her face in her hands with a groan. “My whole fucking life is on display in here. Why shouldn’t you know? Everyone else here does!”

“Barnes doesn’t seem to,” Richard said.

Jesse opened her mouth, then closed it. “What do you mean? He was here the whole time.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t know you like him though,” Richard said.

Jesse gaped. “What are you talking about?”

Richard quirked his brow. “He doesn’t know. It’s obvious.”

“But he has to know. It’s his _job_ to know things.”

“Might be,” Richard said with a shrug. “But most of us have blind spots.”

“Blind spots? He’s not an idiot,” Jesse snapped. “Why the hell else would he have bolted?”

Richard shrugged. “It’s like he said. You’ve suffered enough. Maybe he doesn’t want to be a part of that anymore.”

“Bullshit,” Jesse declared. “He knows, and he’s avoiding dealing with it by avoiding _me_.”

“Or maybe he’s avoiding dealing with you to avoid how _he_ feels.” Richard leaned back and crossed his arms. “Barnes is a stone-cold killer, Jesse. You haven’t seen the guy at work. Not really. Whatever little escapade you had at Current Relief was child’s play. I’ve seen him in action. I’ve read his files. I’ve watched the footage. Hell, he’s saved my ass by shooting straight through my arm to get to the guy holding a gun to my head. And let me tell you, he’s never looked as soft in his whole damn life as he did last night.”

Jesse blinked. Her mouth was hanging open. Did she look like a fish? She must have. With effort, she closed her mouth and swallowed.

“You haven’t seen his every waking moment,” she managed. “You don’t know… If you didn’t know about me before, what else don’t you know about? You couldn’t possibly know that.”

“Well, fine, maybe not,” Richard conceded. “But still. Whatever the case, I didn’t come to pick on you.”

“Really?” Jesse said snidely. She tucked her feet under her and toyed with the end of her braid. “Coulda fooled me.”

Richard winced. “Yeah… I’m sorry. You know I’m not a talker.”

Jesse just stared at him. Not being a talker didn’t excuse being an asshole, and from his shifting expression he seemed to realize the same thing.

“I really just came down to say sorry.”

That gave her pause. “Why?”

“I feel bad,” he said. He leaned forward on his knees and held her gaze. “Most people here are just victims. They just need protection. They’re used to being confused. But you were involved beyond that. And now you’re stuck here, living in the dark. Agent Romanoff’s right—we can’t tell you everything. But that doesn’t make it better.”

Jesse had no words. Where had this compassionate person been all last week? Sure, he hadn’t been surly, but he’d never spoken to her as though her feelings mattered. Now he was validating her?

“I don’t know what to say,” she said.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Richard assured her. He stood and stretched. “It’s late. I’m off to bed. See you tomorrow, I imagine.”

“Well, I’m not going anywhere,” Jesse joked weakly. “Thank you, Richard. I, um, I appreciate it.”

He hummed in response and left. Jesse leaned the recliner back and stared up at the ceiling, a smile tugging at her lips. Could it be that things were going to get better?

 

—

 

Could things be better if someone was pounding on her bedroom door at five in the morning?

Jesse groaned and clutched her pillow against her face.

No. Not really.

It had been another week alone in the safehouse with Richard with no word from the outside. This time, at least, she and Richard had conversations. But he was still a recluse, and she was still depressed and itching for home. For normalcy. For something to do.

Not that there was anything _to_ do. Her work had hired a temp, and emails from her colleagues had tapered off. All her time here was being wasted with tears and pointless inner monologuing. She was doing nothing; she was nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

The only normal thing happening right now was not enough sleep. Of course, as much as that was normal, she sure as hell didn’t like it.

“Open up.”

Jesse rolled over and frowned. Was that Natasha?

“Now,” Natasha ordered.

Jesse screwed up her face and propped herself up on her elbows. She shook her hair out of her face as she pushed herself out of bed. She padded to the door, eyes barely open, and opened it just enough to see into the hallway. Natasha didn’t need to see what she looked like just out of bed.

“What is it?” she croaked, voice thick with sleep.

“I need you to come down. Now.” Natasha fixed Jesse’s one visible eye with an alert stare. How did she have so much energy so early?

“Can I at least get dressed?” Jesse muttered, glancing towards Richard’s room.

Natasha gave her a once-over and blinked as if just realizing that all Jesse had on was an oversized gray nightshirt. “Sure. But make it quick.”

Jesse pressed the door shut and leaned her forehead against the wood. What was going on? What was Natasha doing here? Richard hadn’t warned her—did he know Natasha was coming? Was she just being left in the dark again?

Maybe Richard didn’t know anything either. Whatever the case, Jesse knew nothing. Nothing, nothing.

Jesse pulled on her jeans, which were snug from yesterday’s wash, and slipped into her shoes. She wriggled a bra on under her shirt and gave her hair a quick brush, but before she could do anything more Natasha banged on the door again. Jesse flinched and tossed her brush back on the bureau.

“Here I am,” she snapped, flinging her door open.

“Good. Come with me.” Natasha steered Jesse downstairs with a firm hand on her shoulder. Jesse tried not to trip at the quick pace.

“What’s going on? Why are you here?” Jesse asked breathlessly.

“I have a witness.” Natasha’s red curls bounced around her shoulders, but her face was stern as stone. “I need you to talk to him.”

“What? What do you mean, a witness?”

Natasha stopped in front of the basement door. She curled her free hand around the doorknob and waited a beat; the knob lit up. The door clicked as it unlocked.

“Natasha, what’s going on?” Jesse asked, her pitch rising as Natasha pulled her down the stairs. “Nata—”

Jesse froze.

The basement stairs spilled into a dark room, but it was the wide window into the next room that made Jesse’s heart stop. Natasha nudged her onward and stepped ahead of her.

“We managed to snag him from the FBI,” she said. “It wasn’t easy.”

Jesse’s hands shook. The interrogation room just beyond the observation window wasn’t empty. There was a man sitting at the table, a tall thin man with dark hair and exhaustion written into every feature. His hands were cuffed to the table. Jesse shook her head and stepped back.

“It turns out he never admitted to a direct role in the abductions,” Natasha continued. “But I provided my evidence, thank you by the way, and they released him to us so we could get his confession.”

“No,” Jesse breathed. Rage blossomed in her chest. “No.”

Mike Fuller lifted his head, and by some chance his eyes met Jesse’s through the glass for a moment before moving on. Jesse shuddered from head to toe. Her fists curled so tight her bones hurt. Rage clouded her vision.

“No.”

Jesse scrambled back up the steep stairs, using her hands for purchase. Behind her, Natasha sighed. The basement door burst back open with a bang as Jesse careened out into the foyer. Steps echoed from overhead; by the time Jesse turned to the staircase up, Richard was blocking the way up to her room. She spun on her heels, mind and heart racing. The front door was right next to the stairs up, where Richard stood in surprised stillness. Out of other options, Jesse ran to the back door.

“No! Jesse, you can’t go out there,” Richard called. He trampled down the rest of the stairs, but by the time he reached the door Jesse had burst outside. She leapt down the three steps to the ground, caught herself on her hands, and sprinted across the open backyard.

“Jesse, stop!” Natasha called. “You can’t go out there!”

“Get back here!” Richard shouted.

Jesse didn’t look back until she could hear Richard’s heavy footsteps pounding behind her. His lips were drawn back, baring his teeth; his eyes were wide and tight. Jesse stumbled with a cry, throwing up her hands and twisting as she fell. She landed heavily on her back, her arms over her face.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t hurt me!” she cried.

Richard skidded to a stop beside her. He grabbed her wrists and yanked her up. She put up no resistance as he dragged her back inside, tears streaming down her face and her tailbone pulsing with pain. She collapsed in a kitchen chair and buried her face in her arms on the table.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Richard demanded. He slammed a fist down beside her.

Jesse just shook her head, shoulders heaving with sobs. Richard scoffed and stomped away. She peeked over her arm; he’d left her. She tucked her face back until the room was out of sight.

How could they have brought him here? Mike had ruined her life! He was responsible for everything—her abduction, her torture, the attack, her prolonged absence from her own fucking life. Why was he here? Why wasn’t he locked up in a cell? This was supposed to be a safehouse. How could it be safe if the person responsible for what she’d gone through was sitting just downstairs?

“Jesse.”

Natasha.

She put her hand on Jesse’s shoulder and bent until her hair brushed Jesse’s arms. Her voice was a cold hiss. “As Bucky’s friend, I’m sorry. But my god, Jesse, do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

 

—

 

Once Jesse’s tears were mostly dried, Natasha bundled her back downstairs.

“This time,” she warned, “no running. He said he’d confess everything if he could talk to you. We need him to tell us what he knows. So talk to him.”

“This is cruel and unusual punishment,” Jesse grumbled. Her tailbone still throbbed, but she let herself be led to a door that led into the interrogation room.

“Probably,” Natasha said. “But it’s for the greater good. Think about that.”

Jesse didn’t answer. She just stared at the floor. The greater good. Right. Sure. Next to that, her own feelings meant nothing.

“Well, in you go,” Natasha said airily, but Jesse wasn’t fooled. Natasha’s whole body was rigid with anxious focus as she opened the door and all but shoved Jesse inside. The knob clicked with finality.

Jesse turned to the table slowly, her heart racing and her breathing dangerously slow.

“Jesse,” Mike gasped, his eyes wide. He clenched his cuffed hands together; his knuckles whitened. He leaned forward, lips parted. “You—”

“No,” Jesse snapped. She flung herself into the chair across from Mike, her back to the observation window. From inside, it looked like a mirror, but she knew Natasha was watching. She balled up her hands into fists on her knees and sank her fingernails into her palms to turn her focus from the tears itching the back of her eyes. “You don’t get to ‘Jesse’ me.”

“I begged them to let me see you,” Mike said. Tears welled in his eyes.

Jesse scoffed. “They should have said no.”

“Well, I’m glad they didn’t,” Mike said. He shook his head, hunching over to wipe his eyes with his cuffed hands. “I wanted to…”

Jesse waited with pursed lips, but his silence stretched on. Somehow, his hesitancy made her even angrier. After everything, he wanted more of her time? Hadn’t he stolen enough?

“Spit it out,” she demanded, brows drawn low.

Mike blinked and looked down at his lap. Even seated, he was taller than her. But right now he looked small, small and pathetic and worse than anything she’d ever seen.

“I wanted to out them,” he mumbled. He looked back up, his eyes bright and jaw clenched. “I had a plan, and you ruined it!”

“Wha—”

“You were never meant to get abducted, Jesse! What happened? Why didn’t you get him involved?”

Jesse’s jaw dropped. “I wasn’t _meant_ to get abducted? What the hell did you think was going to happen when you put my name on your fucking list?”

“I thought you’d get help!” Mike slapped the table as best he could. “I thought you’d get _his_ help.”

Jesse gaped.

Mike meant Bucky, without a doubt, but _why?_ Why, why, why? What on earth induced him to think she’d go to Bucky—to _anyone_ for help?

“Why would you think that?” she finally managed.

“I saw you dancing,” Mike snapped. “You think no one else had eyes on him?”

“We were just dancing _,_ Mike,” Jesse said as evenly as she could. She could feel Natasha’s eyes boring into the back of her head through the two-way mirror. “I danced with him, and suddenly I’m what, fair game for brainwashing?”

“I didn’t think it would come to that!” Mike banged his fist on the table. The handcuffs clattered against the table ring.  “I saw how he looked at you—how you looked at each other. Of course I assumed he’d come after you! Why the hell didn’t you ask for his help? You had to have noticed the break-in—”

“Of course I didn’t ask for his help!” Jesse cried. She leapt to her feet and clutched the edge of the table; her chair clattered to the floor behind her. “I thought I was imagining things! And what the hell! How could you have assumed anything?”

“You were friends—”

“We’re barely friends _now,_ ” Jesse retorted. “I dance with all sorts of people. I’ve danced with _you,_ for fuck’s sake!”

“I was there at the benefit, or did you forget?”

Jesse blinked. “What does that have to do with anything?”

He snorted. “The slow dance? The bedroom eyes? He gave you his fucking _phone number,_ Jesse. And you think I’m crazy to have thought you two were at _least_ fucki—”

“Stop it,” Jesse cut in. “Stop.”

To her surprise, Mike quieted. Jesse fumbled for the fallen chair, set it upright, and collapsed back down. She tipped back her head and closed her eyes. “Stop. You don’t—” A sudden laugh burst out of her. “You know, I suppose it makes sense. When you put it that way.”

Mike’s tight expression softened into genuine confusion. “You mean… you guys weren’t…”

“We’ve never done anything more than dance,” Jesse said honestly.

Mikes jaw dropped. “You’re serious,” he gasped. “Holy shit you’re _serious._ ”

Jesse nodded. Her chest tightened with pity as she watched Mike bury his face in his hands. He’d assumed, and he’d been wrong, and now…

She turned her head aside, disgusted. With everything that had happened to her, how could she still pity this man? He’d willfully put her in harm’s way, and he’d done the same to others. She still didn’t know exactly how many people he’d hurt. Whatever his intentions, his actions spoke for themselves.

So why did she suddenly feel bad for him?

There was no excuse for what he’d done. He could have done a hundred other things that would have ended better for everyone. But no. He’d chosen the worst plan, and it had failed.

His plan had failed—and hadn’t the same thing happened to her?

That was it, she realized. She’d had a plan to tell Bucky how she felt, and it had been turned entirely on its head. Ever since she’d stood frozen at the top of the stairs, her heart felt like a knife had been buried deep. Talking with Mike, hearing about all his stupid assumptions, was twisting it even further in. Jesse brushed the tips of her fingers over her heart.

It all boiled down to simple failure. They’d both had plans, and they’d both failed.

What a fucking joke.

And in both cases, Jesse herself was the butt of the joke. Called stupid by the man she loved, and drawn into a torturous scheme out of Mike’s control. All because of that stupid benefit. God. Back at Bucky’s, she’d been glad to have gone. To know Bucky—at the time, all the pain seemed a fair price to pay. But now?

Now she wasn’t so sure.

Back then, she was sure of his friendship. But time had rubbed that certainty away like sandpaper. He’d called her a friend once or twice, true, but his actions spoke for themselves Whatever her own feelings, whatever he’d said, Bucky had never been more than an acquaintance.

Yet Mike had seen something entirely different. He’d seen—what had he said? Bedroom eyes? Did he mean from her or him, or from both?

If only Natasha had waited to spring her revelation on Bucky. With a fellow agent, he’d been able to reject his feelings in the name of Jesse’s safety. Would he have had the guts to do the same if it had been Jesse there, confessing her own feelings? Or would he have let himself admit what everyone else seemed so sure of?

If they were right. If they were even right.

But how could they be right? Love shouldn’t make a man cruel. But that’s what he’d been, whether he meant it or not.

Mike sat back up and wiped his tear-streaked cheeks. Jesse forced her depressed thoughts aside. She needed to keep the upper hand here. No more surprises, no more derailing.

“So why the change of heart?” she demanded. “How long did you just sit back and watch?”

Mike pressed his lips together. “I’ve been trying to collect enough evidence to out them for ages,” he said. “But they’re careful, and I didn’t have any access to any help.”

“So why didn’t you just _get_ help?” Jesse sat back and crossed her arms.

“They watch us,” Mike explained. He gestured as best he could with his wrists bound. “They keep us all on a tight leash. There’s no privacy. I’m still surprised I managed to go a full day without getting caught.” At Jesse’s bewildered expression, he added, “When you two came and met me there. I was sure they’d put a stop to it sooner, but…” He shrugged. “Maybe they knew. Maybe they just wanted to try and kill you again.”

“On their own terms,” Jesse murmured. She lowered her eyes. “On their own turf.”

It made sense. Current Relief had known so much about her. Just one easy break-in, and… Poof. They knew her whole story. Her habits, her meal of choice. The only thing they didn’t seem to know was that she’d been at the Stark Benefit. Or maybe that was because of Mike. She looked back up at him, eyes narrowed.

“Why didn’t they realize I was at the benefit?” she asked.

Mike shifted in his seat. “I hid it,” he admitted. “I knew if they saw it, they wouldn’t go after you.”

Jesse shook her head with a huff. “You really did everything you could to screw me over, didn’t you?”

“Would’ve been different if you’d just done what I thought you would,” he muttered, eyes on the table.

“Yeah, well, apparently we _both_ missed the memo about dancing well together not meaning you know the other person.” Jesse pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. “Whatever. Enough. Just tell us what the hell they’re doing. What they’re up to. Why are they taking all these people? What’s it _for?_ ”

“Why do you think?” Mike burst out. He slammed his hands on the tabled. “Don’t you get it? There’s only one reason anyone does this sort of shit! A power trip, Jesse! Is that clear enough for you? They want a power trip straight to the top!”

Jesse screwed up her face. “And how the hell does brainwashing random women in Brooklyn get them there?”

“You think this is just happening in Brooklyn?” Mike laughed, halfway between gloom and hysteria. “You’re wrong.”

Jesse opened her mouth, but before she could reply the door opened behind her with a bang. Jesse jumped out of her seat, hand to her heart, but the only person there was Natasha, one hand on the door and the other hovering by the comm device in her ear. In the momentary hush, Jesse could just hear the buzz of the voice in Natasha’s ear.

Natasha swallowed and set her jaw. Her eyes glittered as she glanced at Jesse.

“They’re coming.”


	19. "Second Balcony Jump"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha’s face blurred. Jesse swayed in place.
> 
> “Hey!” Natasha snapped in front of her face, startling Jesse out of her stupor. “Stay with me, Jesse.”
> 
> Jesse nodded dumbly. Natasha took her by the elbow and steered her up the stairs. “Richard is upstairs. He’ll protect you. I’ll keep them busy downstairs. Just stay with Richard, do as he says, and you’ll be fine. No plungers necessary.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for this chapter is “Second Balcony Jump - Rudy Van Gelder Edition/ 1999 Digital Remaster/ 24 Bit Mastering” by Dexter Gordon from _Go! (The Rudy Van Gelder Edition)_.
> 
> Guys! I just realized that after this there are only TWO MORE PARTS of this story :o Next Friday is the thrilling conclusion! I’m totally shocked… I can’t believe I’ve been posting this story for long enough to get through all its parts in just another week! THANK YOU so so much for reading so far and I hope you can stick through to the end <3 I hope you’re all having a great day, and I hope you enjoy!

Natasha strode right to the interrogation table and unlocked Mike’s cuffs from the ring on its top. His face brightened with sudden hope, but Natasha just dragged him out of the room. He stumbled, his tall frame bowed like an old man’s, and shot an accusatory look at Jesse as they passed by her.

But Jesse couldn’t move. Her whole body was trembling. Twitching fingers, chattering teeth. And Mike thought she should have— _could_ have—done something about him being dragged off by Natasha Romanoff, world’s most overqualified babysitter?

Natasha hadn’t specified, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who _they_ were.

Current Relief.

Were they about to finish what they started when they came after her the last time?

A door in the other room slammed shut, startling Jesse out of her thoughts.

“Jesse, come on,” Natasha ordered.

Jesse crossed her arms over her chest, wrists against her collarbone, and hurried shakily out of the room. The observation window flickered when she glanced at it, and she yelped when she saw Mike through the window. She spun around, but Mike was nowhere to be seen.

“A recording,” Natasha said shortly, stuffing a remote in her belt. She nodded towards the wall next to the stairs up. “And a soundproofed cell. He’ll be fine.”

“W-what’s going on?” Jesse stammered. She dug her fingers into her shoulders.

Natasha jammed a magazine into her pistol. “SHIELD surveillance flagged a suspicious convoy headed this way, and—”

“A _convoy?!_ ”

“—further footage indicates that certain passengers are from Current Relief.” Natasha ignored Jesse’s outburst. A murmur came from her comm; her lips tightened. “They’re less than a mile away.”

Natasha’s face blurred. Jesse swayed in place.

“Hey!” Natasha snapped in front of her face, startling Jesse out of her stupor. “Stay with me, Jesse.”

Jesse nodded dumbly. Natasha took her by the elbow and steered her up the stairs. “Richard is upstairs. He’ll protect you. I’ll keep them busy downstairs. Just stay with Richard, do as he says, and you’ll be fine. No plungers necessary.”

“Plungers?” Jesse blinked and furrowed her brow as she was led up the second flight of stairs. Oh. The attack on her apartment. The shower. Stocky. “Right.”

Natasha sighed and slapped Richard’s door with an open hand. “Rensselaer, open up,” she ordered. The door opened just enough for Natasha to push Jesse inside, and then it shut.

Jesse blinked at the door’s smooth white paneling. Her brain felt like stew. She’d barely processed any of what Natasha had told her. Where was she? Richard’s room? She turned around. Richard was back to loading his guns at his bed. The open closet door revealed a small open safe, empty save for a little cardboard box of ammunition that had fallen over. A few rounds had settled on the bottom of the safe.

“Get in the closet,” Richard ordered.

Jesse stared at him, hands still trembling. Richard was dressed to fight—a tactical vest, holsters stuffed with more guns than she’d seen even on Bucky. Richard had told her to do something. Why couldn’t she remember it? Why couldn’t she move? Why was she crying? What was the matter with her?

Richard’s last magazine clicked into place, and he slid it into an empty holster on his hip. He came over and put his hands on Jesse’s shoulders, his brown eyes gentle. “We’re not going to let anything happen to you.” He guided her towards his closet and pushed on her shoulders until she was crouched in the corner, her knees pressed tight against her chest. “Stay quiet. I’ll be back for you.”

_Plungers._

“What if they come?” she blurted. She grabbed Richard’s sleeve before he was out of reach; his whole arm shook from her trembling. “They found me when they came to my apartment. What if—” She cut herself off and pressed both hands to her mouth. They were going to find her, and she was going to die.

Richard frowned, but there was no one to advise him. Jesse squeezed shut her eyes and bit hard on her tongue to keep from making noise as tears clogged her throat. She could just make out the buzz of Richard’s comm. _They’re here._

“I’ll be back for you,” Richard repeated. He hurried out, cocking a pistol as he went and locking the door behind him.

Jesse reached out blindly and wiggled her fingers under the bottom of the closet door to pull it most of the way shut. She curled herself into a ball. In the silence and darkness of Richard’s closet, with its strange smell and numerous polo shirts, her brain finally lurched back to life.

How had this happened? Wasn’t this place supposed to be safe? It was bad enough when Mike showed up, but Natasha had brought him here. Had Current Relief followed him? Within an hour of his arrival, here they were.

No… That couldn’t be it. Natasha wouldn’t have brought him here if she knew they’d be followed. She wouldn’t have! And she had to know. She was the Black Widow! One of the most terrifying spies on the planet! She wasn’t that stupid.

Jesse’s stomach dropped. No, the only person stupid enough to broadcast their location was Jesse herself.

It wasn’t Mike’s arrival that told Current Relief what they needed to know. No, Jesse had done it for them. She’d run outside just long enough for them to find her, and now—

Now she’d put the whole fucking neighborhood at risk.

Natasha, Richard, Mike… Mike was trash, but he was everyone’s best bet at figuring out the plans of the people who’d done such harm. Richard was antisocial, but underneath that standoffishness he was kind. And Natasha—if Jesse got Natasha killed, it didn’t matter that all of this had happened because of someone else’s terrible decisions. Natasha was an Avenger, one of SHIELD’s best. How many people would be after her for revenge?

Jesse shuddered. She curled her fingers into her stomach, fighting back rising bile. All she’d ever wanted was to help people. She didn’t work at a nonprofit for the money, that was for sure. But here she was, summoning terrorists to a SHIELD safehouse as though no one inside mattered at all.

How could things have gone so wrong?

And how much of all this was her fault?

She swallowed, throat burning.

An unmuffled gunshot rang out, splintering the heavy silence. Jesse gasped and curled up tighter, pressing her hands over her ears. Two more shots rang out, quieter but no less real; the wall at her back shuddered with impact. Jesse squeezed her eyes shut and leaned forward until she was curled behind Richard’s small safe. Bangs and yells echoed from downstairs; the walls shook again. The closet door creaked as it swung slowly on its hinges.

Richard yelped. Oh god, was he hurt? What had happened to him?

More yells, bangs, and grunts from downstairs filtered through the thin carpet. Running footsteps pounded up the stairs. Jesse sat up, lips parted with terror. She inched forward. Through the open closet door, she could see that Richard’s bedroom door was still locked shut, a sliver of light along the bottom.

A shadow stopped in front of the door.

Jesse couldn’t stop the whimper that grew in her throat. She clapped a hand over her mouth and flung herself deeper into the shadows of the closet.

“Ha,” a man’s voice said. “Got you.”

Jesse’s blood rushed in her ears. She rose into a crouch and picked up the safe. It was small, not particularly heavy, but its open door swung as she lifted it. She fumbled to latch it shut.

A gunshot splintered the bedroom door. Someone kicked it in.

“Come out, come out,” the man cooed. His voice moved closer as he spoke, and Jesse counted in her head and hefted the safe higher in her arms.

When her assailant flung the door open and let out his first gunshot, the safe ricocheted the bullet back at his leg. He fell to his knees with a shout. Jesse regained her balance and swung the safe at his head with her teeth bared and muscles burning.

The impact sent them both reeling. Jesse stumbled, but the man collapsed facedown in a motionless heap on the floor. Jesse dropped the safe, panting.

The metallic scent of blood flooded her nostrils. The bile she’d been holding back rose dangerously, and she threw herself at the little trash can by the bed just in time. She shuddered as she retched, eyes blurred with tears and adrenaline.

Jesse coughed and swallowed with a grimace as another round of gunfire rang out downstairs. She crawled on her knees over to the prone man, glancing anxiously at the half-open door. The man had fallen on his face, one arm trapped under his stomach. His gun had fallen a few feet away. From this angle, Jesse couldn’t see the damage she’d done. She didn’t even know if he was bleeding.

The scuffle downstairs was getting louder, moving closer. Someone stomped on the stairs. Jesse stood to shut the bedroom door, but the knob had been blown away.

She panicked.

Richard’s room, like hers, had a window blocked with thick drapes. Jesse grabbed the abandoned gun and flung the curtains open. She squinted against the morning sun and forced open the window, then the screen. Just below was the pitched overhang for the back door, the one she’d run out of barely an hour ago. Jesse tossed the gun outside, then climbed onto the windowsill, heart stuttering. She eased herself down the few feet to the overhang. Her hands slipped before she had gotten a solid purchase, and she slid down the angled shingles with a strained cry. She snagged a hold on the lip of the overhand.

Then she dropped.

The six-foot fall into the dirt rattled her bones all the way up to her skull. She tried to turn her heavy landing into a roll, but her right wrist buckled. She didn’t stop. The woods were just there, just there… She ran, blind and deaf to her surroundings. She couldn’t hear a thing from the safehouse.

She didn’t look back; she just pumped her legs hard as she dashed into the cover of the woods. Was anyone following? Could anyone see? Dead leaves crunched underfoot. She wound her way between the trees in a frenzied ribbon. When she finally looked back, all she could see was the forest. The house was out of sight.

In a few minutes she emerged from the woods, still running, onto a road. The dirt and gravel crunched under her shoes. Her speed and shock were too much for her to make out details. Were there rocks? She couldn’t tell. She only stayed on her feet through sheer dumb luck and the grace of god.

Jesse glanced back, panting heavily, but no one was coming. She was alone.

She slowed to a walk. As her adrenaline drained away, her steps turned into stumbles. Her whole body throbbed from the fall, and a separate sharper burn sliced through her wrist with every movement. Jesse cradled her injured hand to her chest, eyes welling with tears.

She made her way to the edge of the road and collapsed in the tall grasses. Her quick breaths sliced through her lungs. Her limbs twitched as she moved; it took four tries to arrange the grasses around her like a cloak. She rested her forehead on her knees.

Her tears soon left a damp spot on her jeans. She sat up and wiped her cheeks with her trembling good hand, then realized she was empty-handed.

“Sh-shit!”

She’d left the gun! She’d thrown it outside on purpose, and now she was completely helpless. Helpless and injured—a sprained wrist, she guessed, plus the soreness inevitable from a fall. And the come down from her adrenaline high had turned her into a puddle. If anyone came after her, she was finished.

How could she have been so thoughtless? After everything, to die alone in the woods…

But then, would she have rather been killed in her apartment, for Fran to find? Or under Natasha Romanoff’s nose? At least out here no one could blame it on the Black Widow. It wasn’t Natasha’s fault that Current Relief had found them.

No, Jesse had ruined everything. She’d led Current Relief to the safehouse. She’d run away, like a coward, and it had turned into everyone else’s problem. All of this was her fault. How long until she finally paid for it?

 

—

 

Eventually, Jesse climbed to her feet. She had no idea where she was. Was she even on the same road as the safehouse? These gravel back roads all looked the same to her.

Should she try and find a building to get shelter? Another house, maybe? She huffed in dry amusement. Out here, what was there _but_ houses? If she found somewhere else, she could call the police, get help…

Oh, what good would that do? What could the police do if even SHIELD was taken by surprise? And she didn’t have anyone at SHIELD’s number. Not even Bucky’s.

Jesse leaned heavily against a gray tree and squeezed her eyes shut. As a child, she’d memorized phone numbers easily. Even now she could rattle off her childhood friends’ numbers. These days, with smartphones and contact lists, she was lucky if she remembered her parents’ numbers, let alone her friends’. And she’d only known Bucky for what, two months? No, less. Six weeks, tomorrow. There was no way she could piece the right numbers together from her patchy memory. She knew enough math to know there were far too many possible combinations.

No, she was screwed. Well and truly screwed.

She’d dragged enough people into this mess. She wasn’t going to drag more innocent bystanders into it.

Jesse took a deep breath and stood straight, steadying herself with her good hand. She glanced back and bit her lip. What had happened to Natasha? To Richard? Had Current Relief won? Or were they beaten, tied up or cuffed like Mike? Endless questions rattled around Jesse’s brain.

A gunshot echoed from behind her.

Jesse flinched. She spun on the balls of her feet, hands trembling, every muscle tense. What the hell?

A second gunshot reverberated through the trees. Jesse dove back into the grasses at the side of the road. They were thick, and she was wearing gray. Could she make herself invisible? She had to try. She buried her face in her hands, eyes covered and all, and dug her elbows into the dirt.

Shouts rang out from the direction of the safehouse. How far had she actually come? Were they coming after her? Blood rushed in her ears. She tried to melt into the ground. What the hell was going on? What had happened?

The low rumble of a car broke through her terror. Jesse pressed herself even lower, not daring to look to the road. A cloud of exhaust and dust kicked up in the car’s wake as it crawled along. She bit hard on her lip, eyes watering, and tried not to breathe.

The dust didn’t settle for a long time.


	20. "Honest Truth"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tears welled in her eyes. She slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from sobbing as whoever it was came closer, closer. They slowed down as they approached her hiding spot; did the scraping noises mean they were turning around?
> 
> She squeezed shut her eyes.
> 
> “Jesse?”
> 
> Jesse’s eyes flew open.
> 
> Bucky?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for this chapter is "Honest Truth" by Carsie Blanton on _Idiot Heart_.

If anyone ever asked, Jesse would be sure to tell them not to spend a day alone in the woods with zero forethought.

Once the dust had settled from the passing car, Jesse had booked it into the woods, far enough from the road that she couldn’t even make out the gap in the trees. Time had slowed to a crawl.

Her pockets were empty. She’d already raked through them in hopes of something, anything. All she’d come up with were two little bits of lint, long since discarded. She didn’t even have a hair elastic.

There were a few hiking trails through these woods, but she’d skirted away from those as soon as she noticed them. Hikers had passed in hearing distance of her a few times, but they chatted and made enough steady noise that she didn’t worry. She didn’t dare approach them; she just strained to hear what they were talking about. A movie, family problems, one memorable group of seniors arguing about philosophy. Nothing about shoot-outs, or terrorists. Nothing about Current Relief.

Jesse let them enjoy their weekend.

Now that it was almost evening, sunlight streamed through the canopy from the west. It was still warm, but not muggy. She’d found a creek before noon, but she hadn’t had the courage to brave the open air of the bank. Satellites were the most likely explanation for how Current Relief had found her at the safehouse. She wasn’t going to risk it before dark. In the meantime, she was curled up at the base of a tree in sight of the water, eyeing it longingly. Her mouth was dry and her head—not to mention her stomach—ached, but she had to wait. As excruciating as this endless wait was turning out to be, it hadn’t even been a whole day. Whatever discomfort she had was no worse than fasting for Yom Kippur.

Apart from the sprained wrist, and the full-body soreness.

Apart from that.

Jesse sighed. She leaned her head back against the tough bark and closed her eyes. Hunger gnawed at her. She hadn’t had a chance to eat breakfast, and she’d eaten an early dinner yesterday. This really _was_ like Yom Kippur, except that she hadn’t prepared. She’d eaten pasta and roasted broccoli, not protein. At least she was getting rest.

If you could call curling up in the dirt while fighting through pain _rest._

She cast another longing look at the creek. Her mouth was unpleasantly dry. The sky was darker now than it had been; glowing clouds were rolling in, blocking the setting sun. Satellites couldn’t see through clouds, could they?

Once the clouds were overhead, Jesse stood with a wince. Her muscles were still sore, though she’d been stretching on and off all day. She jogged to the creek. She cupped the water in her hands, ignoring the pain in her right wrist, and gulped down as much bitter water as she could, one eye fixed above. Once she noticed a gap in the clouds, she hurried back to the cover of the woods. She prayed she’d made it back in time. Just to be safe, she wandered parallel to the bank, distancing herself from her former spot.

The little water she’d managed to drink was still a relief. Her mouth didn’t feel like it was stuffed with cotton, and her head didn’t ring quite so badly anymore. She hummed mindlessly as she meandered through the trees.

Then she froze.

Running footsteps pounded into the gravel by the riverbank.

Jesse pressed herself against the closest tree, wishing it were bigger, wishing she were smaller. The bark bit into the skin on her back and arms. She trembled as the pounding grew louder. Tears welled in her eyes. She slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from sobbing as whoever it was came closer, closer. They slowed down as they approached her hiding spot; did the scraping noises mean they were turning around?

She squeezed shut her eyes.

“Jesse?”

Jesse’s eyes flew open.

Bucky?

Oh my god. _Bucky_. Shock flooded her system, rendering her still even as she sagged against the tree in relief.

“Please don’t make me come poking my head around every tree in a fifty-foot radius.”

A shaky giggle burst out of her. She stood straight on wobbly legs, her hand on the tree for support, and edged around its perimeter.

Bucky was already jogging towards her. Jesse’s lips parted. Had it really only been a week since she’d seen him? She swallowed. He was the best thing she’d ever seen.

Bucky skidded to a halt right in front of her. His hands went straight to her shoulders, her face, her neck. “Are you okay?” he demanded, eyes wide.

“I’m okay, I’m okay!” Jesse gripped his arms to still them on her shoulders. His hands on her face were too much; she barely registered the pain from her sprained wrist. He let out a huge sigh; his own shoulders slumped.

“Thank god.” He yanked her into a hug—she landed hard against him with an _oomph_ —and buried his face in her hair, breathing in deep.

Jesse’s eyes slid closed as Bucky’s arms enveloped her. She wound her arms around his waist and pressed her hands against his back, but it wasn’t enough until her fingers dug into the muscles of his back. He was here, really here. His scent overpowered her after so long apart. She let out a long, shuddering breath; her whole body molded against his as he held her close.

God, why did this feel so _right?_ After everything…

After everything? After he’d abandoned her without so much as a goodbye? How _could_ this feel right?

Something inside her slammed shut. Jesse blinked her eyes open and pushed away from Bucky, her brow creased.

“What are you doing here?” she blurted.

Bucky caught her hand—thankfully her uninjured one—before she could pull fully away. “The safehouse was compromised,” he said slowly. His thumb traced circles on the back of her hand, reassuring. She pulled back and crossed her arms.

“And you were assigned to this?”

“Assigned?” Bucky gaped. “No, I wasn’t assi—I came to _find_ you.”

“Funny,” Jesse said. She turned around in a circle. “Which way back?”

Bucky jerked his chin the way he’d come, his face pinched tight with confusion. Jesse led the way back. Dead foliage crunched underfoot.

“What do you mean, funny?” he asked after a minute.

“I didn’t expect you.”

“You didn’t think about it, or did you really think I wouldn’t come after you?”

Jesse didn’t answer right away. After two steps, Bucky grabbed her arm and spun her to face him.

“What the hell’s going on, Jess? Why are you—”

“You _left!_ ” Jesse cried. She yanked her arm free, tears welling in her eyes as red-hot pain ran through her wrist, and shoved him away. He didn’t budge an inch from the force of her shove—no surprise there, some small distant part of her thought dimly—but a moment later he stepped back of his own volition. Jesse let her breath out in a ragged hiss.

“You left,” she repeated, voice low. “Why would you come back after you left?”

“I—” Bucky cut himself off and dragged his hands through his hair to clutch the back of his neck. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye. I just…” He trailed off, his eyes on her and his mouth open in a silent plea.

Jesse cradled her injured hand by her chest. “You just what?” she demanded. “You just decided, oh, fuck that, I don’t need to say goodbye to Jesse! It’s cool to just abandon her to the care of strangers! She won’t mind!”

“Strangers?” Bucky’s nostrils flared. “Nat was still there. She’s not a stranger. You were with her for—”

“Hours!” Jesse interrupted. Her nails dug into her palms; the sting startled her, and she unclenched her fists. “ _Hours_ , Bucky! You two have a history—great. Good for you! But she’s a stranger to _me!_ ” She jabbed a finger at her chest.

“I didn’t realize,” Bucky said quietly. His blue eyes roamed over her face, from her eyes to the fading cut on her temple. “From what she said, I thought—”

Jesse laughed and started walking away. _From what she said._ Of course. Natasha was worth listening to, but Jesse? Jesse was nothing. Other people’s words were more than enough. Who cared what Jesse thought? What Jesse felt? Certainly not Bucky, who had dropped her like a hot potato not once but twice.

She knew with a sickening certainty that Bucky was only thinking of how he’d left her at the door, when Natasha’s beady eyes were on him. But Jesse couldn’t forget how he’d fled the night before. He’d been so close… they’d almost—No. It hadn’t happened. Nothing had happened. She squinted her eyes against the tears threatening to spill over and marched on. Could supersoldiers tell if you were trying not to cry?

Bucky wasn’t following her. Jesse slowed and chanced a peek over her shoulder.

She stopped in her tracks. Bucky was sitting on the ground, his hands tangled in his hair and his shoulders dangerously still. Still like hers. His face was too low for her to see. Was he holding back tears too? She didn’t dare go back to him. As much as her heart ached to see him like this, a sick part of her rejoiced at his pain. After all the tears she’d shed at his expense…

Part of her rejoiced. The bitter part of her drank in the sight of him, hunched over with grief, and glowed.

Then she shook herself. Maybe he’d been a jerk. That didn’t give her the right to be one back. They were alone out here, at least for now. Whether or not he deserved her ire, it was wrong to leave him alone like this. It was wrong.

Jesse sighed and went back. She sat cross-legged in the dirt beside Bucky, just at the edge of arm’s reach. He let out a haggard sigh.

“I can’t handle this,” he whispered.

“What?”

Bucky lifted his head and hooked his arms around his knees. He stared ahead, avoiding her gaze. “I can’t handle you being mad at me.”

“We’ve argued before,” Jesse pointed out, but the words felt flat. Her stomach churned. She raked her good hand through her hair and twisted it back as she turned her eyes ahead. What did he see in the gray woods? She’d once—maybe twice, she couldn’t remember now—gazed out across a crowd and wondered what he’d seen.

“We disagreed. You weren’t… angry.” The distinction seemed to matter. “I already said I was sorry for leaving without saying goodbye. I could say it again, and again.”

“I believe you.” Jesse stilled her hand on the back of her neck. Her shoulders were knotted with tension. When was the last time she’d been truly comfortable?

She sighed. That wasn’t hard to remember. The last time she’d been at peace was in Bucky’s arms, before. _Before._ She stole a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. His face in profile was as beautiful as ever. His eyelashes brushed his cheek. He wore a full jacket, but his contrasting hands were bare.

Bucky turned and caught her eye; she quickly looked away. He sighed.

“What can I do to fix this, Jesse?”

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. She bit her lip. “Well…”

He latched on, twisting until he was facing her. “Well what? Tell me.”

Jesse swallowed. His eyes were fixed on hers, holding her in place. God, how could he have such power over her? Six weeks, and she was lost. Asshole or not, she loved him. By god, she loved him.

Yet for all that, she couldn’t forgive him. Not yet. Not without knowing. She dug her fingers into the dirt, her fingers sliding against the softly crumbling leaves.

“Why didn’t you come back that night?” she asked quietly.

Bucky’s lips parted. “I meant to,” he said, voice hoarse. “Then I… figured I shouldn’t. I didn’t mean to do—what I did. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to abandon you. I just felt awful at how I got carried away.”

“Right,” Jesse said faintly. She tucked her chin against her other shoulder and closed her eyes. “Carried away.”

“I didn’t mean to ruin things,” he insisted. He scooted closer and put a tentative hand on her shoulder. “Your friendship means so much to me, Jess. I’m so sorry.”

Jesse nodded, eyes still closed. “I know. And yours meant a lot to me.”

“Meant?” Bucky’s voice cracked, and she at last met his gaze. His hand slid off her shoulder and cradled her elbow. “Jesse… what happened? Why can’t we go back to how things were?”

Jesse’s stomach dropped. She squeezed shut her eyes and exhaled slowly. He’d just said he didn’t feel as she did. Not in so many words, but clear enough. He only saw her as a friend, and to think of her as anything more was beyond comprehension. After that, she had no desire to bare her soul to him. But this wasn’t fair to either of them. Even if it hurt, even if it destroyed her, he deserved to know the truth. She’d just have to pray she’d manage to make it through. She took a steadying breath and opened her eyes.

“I heard what you said to Natasha.”

“Natasha?”

Bucky’s confusion made Jesse blink. Did he really not remember?

“You told her… you said I’d be stupid if I—” She couldn’t say it. She bit the tip of her tongue, hard. “I don’t want to let you down, alright?” she blurted. “But I can’t do anything about… this—” she gestured between them helplessly; his eyes widened— “if we go back to before.”

Bucky just stared at her. “You’re not stupid.”

“According to what you said—” Jesse stopped. There was a furrow in his brow, a tension in his mouth. She turned her head; looking at him hurt too much. Without seeing the confusion in his face, it was easier to say what she knew had to be said to finally end it. “I can’t help it, okay? I’m trying, but I can’t help it. This is more to me than friendship. I care more about you than I should, and I’m sorry.” Tears pricked her eyes. She stood abruptly, still not daring to look at him. She wiped her hands against her hips, beating the dirt away. “I guess you didn’t really do anything awful. I just… wish you’d done something different, that’s all.”

Jesse started walking back in the direction Bucky had indicated. She was some distance away before she heard him following her. Her shoulders inched up around her ears. She walked faster, but it wasn’t long before he was beside her.

To her surprise, he didn’t say anything. His hands were in his pockets and his eyes were downcast, his brow still furrowed.

The sound of walkie-talkies rang out—distant, but getting closer. Jesse froze, limbs seizing in panic. She looked quickly at Bucky. He’d stopped too, but his expression wasn’t harried or threatened. Whoever was coming, they weren’t the enemy.

Jesse forced herself to keep walking with a sigh. She started to head on, but Bucky put a gentle hand on her arm. It was enough to stop her, but not enough to keep her if she really wanted to go on.

But she didn’t. There was no saying what was waiting for her up ahead. Would she go back into SHIELD custody? They couldn’t force her back into that safehouse, but surely they had others. Whatever came next, Jesse knew Bucky wouldn’t be a part of it. This was her last chance to talk to him, to see him. She swallowed and looked up at him.

Her eyes traced the lines of his face. His blue eyes regarded her with a gentleness that she couldn’t ever remember seeing from another person. His mouth was set in a line, yet his lips still looked soft. Even now, with his expression torn between grim determination and regret, he was the most beautiful person she’d ever seen.

“No going back, huh?” Bucky murmured.

Jesse blinked. She could barely look at him without wanting to take his face in her hands and press her lips to his. How could he think she could go back to how things had been before? Didn’t he get it?

Apparently not.

“I’ve spent the last two weeks thinking in circles about this, about us.” Jesse sighed. “But however much I think, and no matter what I do, there’s no way I could change _your_ feelings. All I can work on is mine. But I can’t do a thing if things stay the same. I won’t stop lo—“ The words stuck in her throat, but she forced them out. No point in beating around the bush, not now. “I won’t stop loving you just by wishing for it.”

Bucky studied her face. His expression was unreadable. He didn’t say anything more; he just looked at her. Jesse forced as much of a smile as she could muster.

“That’s all,” she finished.

“Is it?” he murmured.

“Well, I’m going to miss you,” she said quietly. She looked down at her cradled hands. “And I’m sorry. But yes, I think that’s all.”

Bucky’s eyes landed on her hands. “You’re hurt!” he blurted.

“Over there!” someone called.

Jesse edged away from Bucky, not sure how to answer. Had he really not noticed all this time? Nothing had ever gotten past him—except her feelings. But he’d always known how she was. It was something, she decided, for him to be upset about everything. He didn’t love her, but at least he cared.

Small comfort, she thought bitterly.

“What happened?” Bucky pressed. He stepped closer, but Jesse pulled her hands against her body, and he stopped.

“It’s just a sprain,” she said.

Someone crashed through the bushes ahead of them—it was Natasha, her curls limp and a red scratch on her flawless face.

“Thank god!” Natasha barreled over to Jesse and caught her in a tight hug. “Are you okay?”

Jesse blinked, flabbergasted. Natasha had rarely even _smiled_ at Jesse. A hug? Right now? It was more than Jesse could handle. She clenched her teeth against the rush of feelings.

Fortunately, Natasha pulled away before Jesse lost control of herself and did something stupid, like burst into tears, or bother to hug her back.

Natasha stalked straight to Bucky and punched him in the shoulder. “Barnes, what the hell? Why didn’t you answer your damn comm?”

“Must have gotten turned off,” he muttered, not meeting Jesse’s surprised glance or Natasha’s glower.

“Sure,” Natasha scoffed. “Must have.” She turned back to Jesse, her face softening slightly as she sized her up. “Sprain or break?”

“Sprain, I think,” Jesse said.

“That’s a relief. We’ve had enough disasters today.” Natasha sighed. “I’m sorry about all this, Jesse. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

“Thanks.” Jesse stared at Natasha’s chin. “I’m sorry.”

Natasha turned away. “Bucky,” she said, “why is she apologizing? Haven’t you told her to stop it already?”

“She’s not beholden to me,” Bucky said. For the first time since Natasha’s arrival, he looked Jesse square in the face. There was a greater depth of grief in his eyes than she’d ever seen. “She knows it’s not her fault.”

Jesse’s heart stuck in her throat. “It was,” she croaked. She coughed and turned to Natasha. “They found the safehouse because I ran away. Of course I’m sorry.”

“Well,” Natasha said, “let it not be said that she’s not smart. You’re right, Jesse, but there was no way you should have been able to get out. That’s on us. Not you.” She narrowed her eyes at Jesse, locking her in place. “So get over your guilt complex and come with me. The FBI’s taking you in.”

“Oh. Okay.” Jesse hung her head and followed Natasha, but a few steps away from Bucky she paused. She studied his face one last time. “I’ll see you around, Bucky. Be well.”

Half of it was a lie, the other half a fervent wish. Would she ever see him again? She didn’t know. She didn’t even know if she wanted to. But whatever she wanted, whatever happened, she prayed he’d be well. He didn’t deserve any more pain.

Bucky’s hand twitched towards her, but he made no other move. “Goodbye, Jesse.”

She forced a smile and walked away. Her heart broke with every step, but she knew better than to turn back.

He didn’t love her. There was no point.

All that was left was to get over it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of emotions in this chapter. Please don't kill me XD
> 
> Let me know what you think!! Can't believe this is the penultimate chapter!!!! Thank you so much for reading <3 It means a lot!


	21. "At Last"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After everything, it was time for a change.
> 
> A real one this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for this chapter is “At Last” by Etta James from _At Last!_ And hey—at last!!! Holy shit, guys. Wow. I’m just. Wow. You guys I am SO grateful for all of you for sticking with me through this insane passion project. and AHHH!!! I hope the ending is as satisfying for you as making this post is for me XD I do have a sequel in the works, and I’m always happy to chat about this story :3 Thanks for reading and let me know what you think!!!

 

> **_38 Domestic Terrorists Arrested in Citywide Sting_ **
> 
> _Federal and state authorities have arrested 38 local members of a domestic terrorist group run out of Queens electrotherapy company Current Relief, Inc._
> 
> _[Read more…]_

 

—

 

“Well, here we are.”

Ellen Tapper, FBI, turned her keys in the ignition. They were parked right in front of an apartment building—Jesse’s apartment building. She hadn’t seen this place since she’d been carted away in an ambulance, and that had been over three weeks ago. Jesse stared up from her spot in the passenger’s seat to a window up on the third floor. As usual, Fran’s curtains were drawn.

“Do you see the property manager?” Ellen asked.

Jesse shook her head. “Not yet.”

After the FBI had taken Jesse in a week ago, things had started to fall into place. A coordinated series of arrests had taken out everyone involved in the abductions, and the FBI had assigned Ellen to help Jesse transition back into regular life. Jesse was already in touch with her work, but Ellen had gotten in touch with the property manager of Jesse’s apartment. They had replaced the locks on Jesse and Fran’s apartment—no surprise there—but the outside door had been replaced as well.

Which meant every single apartment needed two new front door keys. Great.

Now it was just a matter of waiting for the property manager to arrive so Jesse could finally go home. So much had happened in the last three week. This place felt like a distant memory. She’d thought plenty about coming back. What would Fran say when he saw her? Did he know what had happened to her?

And what did he think about the rampant destruction of his home?

Jesse sighed and pressed her forehead against the window.

“Oh, there he is,” Ellen said brightly. She unlocked the car; Jesse followed her out. Mark, the bald property manager, was just coming out of the building. As soon as he saw Jesse, his eyes widened.

Jesse swallowed.

“Hi, Mark,” Ellen said. “Ellen Tapper. Thanks so much for meeting us.”

“Sure. You’re Kaplan in 34?” Mark asked Jesse.

Jesse nodded. There was no mistaking Mark’s look. He blamed her for everything. It was clear as anything. If she hadn’t been there, none of this extra work would have been necessary. She scuffed her shoe on the ground. “Sorry about everything.”

“Come on, Jesse, we’ve talked about this,” Ellen cut in.

Mark pressed his lips together a smile that Jesse was certain was forced. “Well, here are the new keys,” he said brusquely. He passed Jesse two keys on a simple keyring. “You lose them, it’s—”

“Fifty dollars, I know,” Jesse said with a sigh. Not that she’d ever lost her keys, but she remembered these things, dammit. But this wasn’t just that Mark was old enough to be her dad. No, it was the judgement, the _blame_ she read on his face. She didn’t want to look at him anymore. She didn’t want to look at him ever again.

Maybe she wouldn’t have to.

Jesse had reached out to cousins in Park Slope, and it turned out their basement apartment was vacant since her great-aunt had been moved to a nursing home. She hadn’t decided yet, but Fran had signed the lease for the new year on his own, which meant Jesse was free to leave or stay.

Well, it was worth seeing how things went.

Jesse grabbed her backpack from Ellen’s car and waved her off. Mark had already left. Jesse paused just outside. She stared into the hallway, heart stuttering. The last time she’d been here…

She shook her head, eyes burning, and unlocked the door. Enough of the moping, enough reminiscing. She needed to move on.

The two-story climb left a distantly familiar burn in her calves. It hadn’t been _that_ long since she’d climbed two flights of stairs, had it? Barely a few weeks.

What a change.

Jesse unlocked her apartment door. She was halfway to her bedroom door before she thought to look around.

The place looked… normal. Weirdly normal. No unconscious goons anywhere. The kitchen was clean, the bathroom too. The coffee table was intact—no, it was new. Jesse stared at it. When her eyes drifted up to the wall over the couch, her stomach lurched. There had once been a wall of photos over the couch, gold and silver frames interspersed with pictures of hers and Fran’s. Now, the wall was blank.

Jesse took a shuddering breath and stumbled to her bedroom door. She flung it open and rushed inside.

She stopped still.

Everything was as it had been right after Bucky had pulled her from the brainwashing. No one had touched a thing. The bed was still perfectly made with hospital corners. Every surface was clear, save a thin coat of dust. Her hands trembled as she pulled off her backpack and set it on the bed. She sat beside it, then curled into a ball against her pillow and tried not to cry.

She did not succeed.

 

—

 

Jesse told Fran the same story she’d told the FBI, minus the details they’d told her not to share. Neither recounting had included her conversations with Bucky, or the evolution—and dissolution—of their relationship. That… that was for herself, alone. And Bucky, she supposed. But she trusted him to keep it to himself. What good would her personal woes do anyone else? She wasn’t famous or important, not like him.

Her relationship with Bucky Barnes aside, by the time she was done, Fran’s eyes were wide as saucers and his hair was standing on end from having been clutched in shock.

“Jesus Christ, Jesse,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s the craziest shit I’ve ever heard. How the hell are you even alive?”

Jesse laughed weakly and shoved her hands between her thighs, shoulders hunched. “Man, I don’t even know.”

“Seriously, though!” Fran shook his head. “That’s crazy.”

“Yeah,” Jesse agreed. “It is.” She sighed and twirled her fork in her spaghetti. “Hey Fran, what happened to the pictures on the wall?”

“Oh, that… A bunch of them were shattered, so I took them all down. I have yours in an envelope, I’ll grab it.” Fran bounced off and returned in less than a minute with a manila envelope. He went back to work on his spaghetti.

Jesse pulled out the pile of photographs and flipped through them. Apart from the pictures of her family, she could barely remember why most of them had ever been on her wall. Had she even seen half these people in the last few months?

She really had been consumed.

A picture from a work event caught her eye. Jesse gazed at the photograph of her colleagues from BCEI—Marilyn, Robin, Zach, the rest. How were they doing? She hadn’t heard much, just a congratulations when she let them know she’d be back tomorrow. Apparently the temp they’d found to replace her was perfectly capable of covering her.

Jesse stuffed the photos back in their envelope.

It was something, to know you were replaceable.

 

—

 

_Today, 8:12 PM_

jesse.kaplan: hello?

itsadrian: omg

itsadrian: you’re alive

itsadrian: i was not expecting that!!!

jesse.kaplan: ahaha… yeah. about that.

itsadrian: i really didn’t think i’d hear from you again after so long

itsadrian: what happened????

jesse.kaplan: did you hear about the domestic terrorists in nyc?

itsadrian: uh yes

jesse.kaplan: yeah.

itsadrian: …

jesse.kaplan: kidnapped, brainwashed, attacked, FBI protection program, etc

itsadrian: holy shit are you for real???

jesse.kaplan: unfortunately yes

jesse.kaplan: i’m really sorry i wasn’t in touch

itsadrian: omg jesse do NOT apologize!!! are you okay?

itsadrian: was all this because of you-know-who???

jesse.kaplan: i’m alive. voldemort was not involved

itsadrian: you know who i mean

jesse.kaplan: um

jesse.kaplan: he was involved. but it wasn’t his fault

itsadrian: right……………

jesse.kaplan: it wasn’t

itsadrian: ooookay

jesse.kaplan: anyway i’m really sorry i wasn’t in touch and i’m really glad you’re still around <3

itsadrian: well i’m really glad you’re still alive!!!!!!

itsadrian: damn

itsadrian: so… what now??

 

—

 

Two hours back at work was enough. After hearing yet again from Marilyn about teaching swing dancing with Bucky Barnes, Jesse had shut herself in the bathroom and cried.

When she finally reemerged, she went straight to Robin’s office to give her two week’s notice. The temp, who was still there to help with Jesse’s transition, was thrilled. Robin and Marilyn less so, but there was nothing else to do. Jesse had been with BCEI for almost three years. After everything, it was time for a change.

A real one this time.

 

—

 

Jesse stuck her hands on her hips as she inspected her bedroom. The drawers on her dressers were all open, and her closet door was flung wide. They all were mostly empty, the former contents taped up in boxes around her bed. Her new phone was charging on her nightstand, which had already been cleared out and boxed away.

Now she just had to decide what she was packing for Israel.

Fran had taken the news of her departure well. He’d apparently been half expecting it. He didn’t seem upset, anyway. And her cousins’ basement apartment was waiting for her stuff—and for her, once she was back from visiting her parents.

She blew the loose hair out of her face and rifled through the sundresses still hanging up. Did she even want to bring any? They were cute, but what did she have to look cute for? Her parents? Jesse rolled her eyes and grabbed the closest one, stuffing it into the suitcase on her bed. Then she sighed and pulled it back out to fold. She didn’t need to deal with her mother chastising her about wrinkles.

“Hey Jesse, I’m heading out,” Fran called.

Jesse nudged her bedroom door open and shot her roommate a smile. “Gym?”

“Yep, the usual,” he said. He finished tying his sneakers and popped to his feet. “When I get back, how do you feel about grabbing dinner? Least I can do for our last night. And I’m going anyway.”

“Oh…” Jesse chewed her lip and glanced back into her room. “I’ve still got so much to do. I don’t want to leave you with a mess even if I am leaving all the furniture for now. You go, have fun.”

“Alright, if you say so,” Fran said. He pulled the door open and gave Jesse a gentle parting smile. “Go easy on yourself, Jess.” The apartment door shut with finality.

“Bye,” Jesse murmured. She sat heavily on her bed and smoothed her folded sundress in the suitcase.

Go easy? What was Fran talking about? She _was_ going easy on herself. She hadn’t thrown herself at Fran’s feet to apologize, she hadn’t offered to pay for the damages to the apartment, she hadn’t carved an apology on her face—

There was a knock at the door.

Jesse froze. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the side of her suitcase; the air fled her lungs. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Had they come back for her?

“Jesse?”

Bucky? _Bucky?_

Jesse stood on shaking legs and caught herself against her bedroom door.

“Jesse, I know you’re there.”

She pressed a hand to her mouth, vision blurring with sudden tears. As if in a trance, she made her way to the front door. Were those her feet walking?

“Please, I just…” Bucky drew a ragged breath. “Can I come in?”

Jesse unlocked the deadbolt. The click resonated through the apartment, snapping her out of her daze. She stepped back, staring at her hands in shock. The doorknob was still locked. Bucky was still out of sight.

What was he doing here? Did he know she was leaving New York? Why had he come?

After everything, _why had he come?_

“What are you doing here?” she breathed. Quiet, flat, but loud enough for him, even though she was standing a few feet back from the door.

“I had to see you. Talk to you. Please let me in.”

Jesse shook her head, eyes burning, heart racing. “Bu—” She cut herself off. She didn’t want to say his name.

How could he have come? Didn’t he realize? She knew with all her heart that he’d never meant to hurt her, but how could he have come here knowing what he did? There was no way he didn’t know how much this would hurt her. She’d _told_ him, flat-out, that seeing him, being near him…

No.

How many times had she said goodbye to him? And now he wanted to drag yet another from her? She couldn’t take it.

“I _can’t_. Please go away.”

“No—wait,” Bucky begged. She heard his hands sliding on the door. “You don’t—you don’t have to let me in. But please, _please_ , I have to say this. Please let me.”

Jesse pressed a hand to her aching heart. She swallowed hard, throat burning.

_Please let me?_

He was giving her the power, she realized. There he was, Bucky Barnes, superhero, supersoldier, putting himself in her powerless hands. She could turn him away, send him off…

And never hear whatever he was so desperate to tell her.

Did she _want_ that?

Bucky had caused her pain, yes, but not consciously. Not on purpose.

Turning him away now, while he was so clearly distraught, would be a conscious choice. Given how distraught he sounded even through the door, even with the few words he’d said, turning him away _would_ hurt him.

However much he’d hurt her, she couldn’t do the same to him. Not knowingly.

“What is it?” she said at last.

Bucky murmured something she couldn’t quite make out. It might have been _thank god_ , but he cleared his throat before she could ask.

“I’m begging you, if it’s not too late—” he took a shaky breath— “ _forgive me_ , Jesse.”

“ _What?_ ” Jesse stumbled to the door, her hands spread flat on the paneled wood. “What do you mean, forgive you?”

“I’ve been so _blind!_ ” His hands slid down, down; Jesse heard his knees hit the floor, heard him bang his head against the door once, twice. “I fucked up so bad, Jess.”

Jesse fell to her knees, her hands still against the door and her heart hammering. Were Bucky’s hands opposite hers? An inch of wood—was that all that separated them?

“We caught that woman, the doctor. Faulk.”

Jesse nodded, forehead moving against the door. The FBI had kept her until the sting against Current Relief, and Faulk had been among those captured. Thirty-eight monsters behind bars, thank god.

“She—god, she said—I’m sorry, Jesse, I gotta tell you,” Bucky babbled. “She said you were nothing special. That you were nobody.”

Pain lanced through Jesse’s heart, sharper than any knife. She sat back on her heels, head bowed.

“Yeah,” she whispered.

“She was wrong!” Bucky slapped the door, breathing heavier. “She was so fucking wrong!”

_What?_

Jesse’s heart stopped. She raised her head, pressed her ear to the door, covered her mouth.

“You’re _everything_ ,” Bucky said. “You’re everything, Jesse. I can’t believe it took me so long to see it. I’ve been so blind!” He gave a shaky half-laugh, half-sob. She’d never heard him so miserable. “I’ve spent so long putting up walls that I didn’t even notice when they came down. For you, Jess. Just for you.” His metal hand scraped against the door, clinked against the doorknob, but he didn’t try to turn it. “Please, can I see you?”

Jesse couldn’t speak. She was frozen and shaking all at once, her heart pounding so loud in her ears she could barely hear him go on.

Bucky sighed. “I get it if it’s too late. I wouldn’t blame you at all. God, I was so fucking _stupid_.” He banged his head against the door again. “I was an ass to you. I just… I let you walk away? How could I? I didn’t mean to be cruel but I was, god, I _was_. Hell, maybe this is cruel too. I feel like—how many times did I wrong you? But I… I couldn’t keep this to myself. Maybe you hate me, but I had to come, had to tell you—”

Jesse wrenched open the door.

Bucky’s head snapped up. His blue eyes locked on hers.

Jesse's heart pounded at the sight of him, tears and all. Had it really only been three weeks since she’d seen him?

It felt like an eternity.

He too was on his knees; his hands fell from where they’d been propped against the door. His eyes were bloodshot, his shoulders tense. His customary cap was discarded on the hallway rug, but Jesse barely noticed. All she could see was him, his face, his trembling hands curling and uncurling at his sides.

“I could never hate you, Bucky,” she whispered. His eyes squeezed shut for the briefest moment, then opened to fix again on hers. Her hands itched to touch him, to smooth the pinch between his brows, but she had to know. She had to ask. “But what happened to being friends? What happened to ‘back to normal?’”

“I _have_ friends,” he said. “Sam, Nat, Clint… but you—” He walked forward on his knees, past her threshold, and pressed his forehead against hers. His shaky breath was warm on her lips as he cupped her face with his right hand. “This was never normal,” he murmured.

Jesse’s hands trembled at her sides. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. Was this really happening? After all this time? Or was this just another terrible dream? She leaned into him and closed her eyes. If everything was about to fade away, at least she wouldn’t see it.

But Bucky didn’t disappear. He stayed put, his hand on her face and his forehead against hers.

Eventually, Bucky drew back, though his kept his hand on her face. Jesse didn’t dare open her eyes.

“Look at me?” he asked again, voice as soft as his touch.

She opened her eyes. He was there, right there, his face her whole world and his dark eyes fixed on hers. He brought his other hand up to cup her face and tilt it up to his. The metal was cool and smooth against her skin.

“Jesse,” he whispered, “can I kiss you?”

“Please,” she breathed, eyes wide.

Bucky’s gaze flitted between her eyes and her barely parted lips. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. Then he drew her face to his and kissed her, his mouth soft and his hands gentle. Jesse’s eyes slid shut. This was nothing like what she’d imagined, and certainly nothing like the all-too-vivid dream she’d had at the safehouse, but the solid realness of him was better than any fantasy. Her heart beat furiously, deliriously, but after barely a second Bucky drew back.

His eyes sought hers ought. Jesse stared. The hesitancy in his face twisted her gut. She swallowed. Was he regretting it? Did he think she wasn’t bursting with feeling? Slowly, she pressed a hand to his chest, against his heart. The second she leaned back in, he clutched her face in his hands and crushed her against him.

Jesse gasped at his sudden intensity, but then his lips were on hers and all thoughts flew out of her head. His gentleness was gone, replaced with an urgency that made her moan. Bucky angled his head to kiss her deeper; she buried her hands in his hair to bring him closer still, pressing herself against him.

Footsteps on the stairs startled them both; Bucky pulled back, his eyes dark and wide and halfway to wild. Jesse bit her lip as she sank back on her heels.

“You can come in,” she said, and he smiled at last.

“Oh,” he said. The dark wildness receded from his eyes. “Okay.” He grabbed his hat from the hall, helped her to her feet, and stepped inside, properly this time.

Jesse nudged the door shut. She locked the deadbolt and turned to lean against the door.

Bucky was standing scant feet away, twisting his cap in his hands. Jesse let herself just look at him, really look. A little smile was playing on his plush lips. He was dressed as nondescriptly as usual, jacket and shirt and bare hands. His jeans clung to his legs; his boots were as sturdy as ever. Her eyes trailed back to his face; he was still smiling that sweet smile, still looking at her as she looked at him.

“You’re really here,” she murmured.

“I am.”

She swallowed. There he was, filling the room, and yet. And yet. After so long hoping, after so long resigned to disappointment and heartbreak, it didn’t quite feel real. She twisted her hands together nervously.

“I just… I still kinda feel like I’m dreaming,” she admitted.

“Well, you’re not.” Bucky set his hat aside. He took her hand and pressed it back against his heart, between his shirt and jacket. His skin was warm even through the henley; his heart beat fast, strong—she could feel it straight through to her bones. “I’m here, Jess.” He kissed her hair. “I’m here.”

 

—

 

For now, it was enough to just be with him. Jesse had pulled Bucky to the couch where they lay down, her head against his chest. With his jacket discarded, she could listen to his steady heartbeat. She pressed a hand to his stomach, lightly tracing the muscles there. Bucky had one arm around her shoulders, his hand running gently through her loose hair. When her hand drew lower, fingers brushing the top of his jeans, he grabbed her hand and kissed her fingers.

Jesse sat up, unable to help a little smirk. “Are you ticklish?”

“Don’t push it,” Bucky said, but he was smiling too.

“I won’t, I won’t,” she said, but the urge was overwhelming. It was a good thing he didn’t let go of her hand, she decided. Instead, she asked the question he’d never really answered.

“What changed, Bucky?”

“Hm?”

Jesse swallowed. “You were so determined—you were so sure…” She trailed off, unsure how to continue.

But Bucky understood. He sat up, eyebrows pinched, and took her other hand with a sigh.

“I spent so long protecting myself from other people,” he said, voice low. “Then I started letting a few people in, decided where they’d fit. A friend from work, a nice old lady, that sort of thing. And then you came along.” His lips quirked up. “And it took time, but I was ready to call you a friend. But… that’s not what happened. And I was just too damn scared and stubborn to see what was happening. I was too scared to even _want_ to see. I’ve lost people, I’ve lost—hell, you heard what I said to Natasha.”

Jesse nodded. His words then had given her so much heartache, and here they were, going down those same unfriendly paths. And he was baring his pain now too. She’d had inklings of his fear before, but hearing them in his own voice was heartbreaking. She knew what he’d lost—hell, the whole world knew.

If he was really so terrified of connecting, of letting his feelings speak for themselves, of making himself vulnerable, how much had he lost out on that she didn’t know about?

But he was here now. There was a happy ending in there, somewhere.

“Then you told me how you felt,” Bucky continued. “And it meant that after everything, I was going to lose you.” He shook his head; he brushed back the hair in his eyes impatiently. “I couldn’t live with that. It was eating me raw. And then that woman—” He cut himself off. “Well, she was wrong, and so was I.” He let out a shuddering breath and closed his eyes briefly, but then he smiled, and Jesse’s heart soared. He cradled her face in his hands. “I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

Jesse pressed her face into the crook of his neck, overcome. _He_ felt lucky? Bucky Barnes, the best man in the world, felt lucky because of _her?_ A nobody? Her breath caught in her throat; her eyes smarted.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Bucky asked. He wrapped his arms around her, tight and warm and reassuring. “You’re okay, sweetheart.”

“I just…” Jesse sniffed. She slid her hands around his waist and clutched his shirt, her face still buried in the crook as neck. She was as desperate as he’d sounded outside her door. “I’m the lucky one, Bucky. You—you don’t know what you mean to me. I—There’s never been anyone like you.”

“Nor you,” Bucky said. He kissed her hair and let out a little huff of astonishment. “Hell, after everything I did, the fact that you even opened the door—”

“Of course I opened the door!” Jesse blurted. She sat up, took hold of his face, and practically glared at him through the tears welling in her eyes. “I will _always_ open my door for you, Bucky Barnes.”

Bucky brushed her hair back, his eyes soft as he leaned in to brush his lips against hers in his gentlest kiss yet.

“I know that now,” he said. “And I never should have doubted you. You’re so good, Jesse, and I…”

Jesse held her breath, stared—but Bucky just shook his head and stood them both up. She let out the air in her lungs slowly between her teeth. It was too much to expect that he loved her, or that he knew that he loved her if somehow he did, when he’d been so closed-off for so long.

Nevermind, she decided. If it would come, it would come. For now, he was here.

Bucky tugged her into his arms, smiling down at her with shining eyes. “Dance with me?” He led her in a twirl, catching her even closer than before.

“I don’t have a choice,” she said, smiling back, “but I don’t mind.”

Bucky held her close, his cheek pressed against her hair and hers against his chest as they swayed to imaginary music. His warm arm around her was everything she’d ever wanted since the very first time he’d held her like this. Was it a coincidence if the tempo was the same as their first song?

As if he were reading her thoughts, Bucky said, “I remember our first dance, I told you you looked out of time.”

Jesse chuckled. “I remember that too. And I think that was when I realized you deserved, well, to be happy.”

“Huh?”

Jesse blushed. “Don’t feel bad, but it just seemed awkward before then. Mostly because I was being a judgmental ass—”

“Everyone’s judgmental,” Bucky reminded her. “You told me that.”

“Fair enough.”

Bucky didn’t answer for some time. Not until he’d sent her out in another spin did he finally put voice to the thoughts knitting his brow.

“I think you had me even then,” he mused. “Just one dance, and boom. You just swooped in, out of nowhere, and there was no going back.”

“I could say the same, I think.” She moved a little away so she could meet his eyes. “Even if I didn’t realize how much you meant until Natasha came to take me away.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Pretty crappy timing. I realized I loved you right as I was leaving. Oh—you don’t need to say anything,” she added quickly. Bucky closed his mouth, but she reached up to smooth the pinch between his brows all the same, cupping his cheek once it was gone. “You’re here. That’s enough. You’re here, and we’ll go from there.”

Bucky ducked his head and kissed her, long and languid. Jesse could feel the start of something in it. Maybe not love, not yet, but something growing. Something to take them forward. Tenderness, respect, affection…

The start of something good.

Bucky pulled back. He pressed his forehead against hers and smiled.

“No going back.”

Jesse nodded. “No going back.”


End file.
